Daughters of the Night
by lefreakcestchic
Summary: "There has to be a line somewhere. Black and white. Good and evil." "Funny thing about black and white? You mix it together and you get gray. And it doesn't matter how much white you try and put back in, you're never gonna get anything but gray." AU
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: Hi there! This little story is definitely AU and set in the universe of a different TV show. No worries, I'm only borrowing the preexisting mythology of that 'verse and you'll be totally fine if you've never seen a single episode of Buffy, I promise.

Things you should now: There used to be one girl in every generation with superpowers who fought demons, vampires, and basically all the bad guys. She dies, next one gets activated. All of this changed in 2003 when a bunch of people did some spell and all the _Potential_ Slayer that could have been activated at some point became _Actual_ Slayers. Meaning, there's a gazillion girls with superpowers all over the world now. That's it. Really. Everything else is pretty self explanatory.

A couple of warnings beforehand. This fic is shippy but romance is not the main focus of it. You'll be getting a lot of Spoby (and some Haleb) but like I said, it's not really the main focus of the story. Mystery, family and friendship are, though, so if you're into that, you've come to the right place. **Rated for some steaminess, violence and language.**

Another thing: Keep in mind that these are not the same people you've met on the show although they may have the same traits as their counterparts. These people have grown up under completely different circumstances. While character A and B may be best friends, strangers, step- or half-siblings, lovers or enemies in the PLL 'verse, they'll probably be something different in here.

_I'm a twenty-year-old broke college student. Obviously, nothing belongs to me. Not even the laptop I'm currently writing this on. Except for all the mistakes you'll be rolling your eyes at. They're mine._

* * *

><p><strong>Part One: <strong>The Cruel Sister

Little ghost, so innocent and carefree  
>They would never stop hunting you<br>Little voice, life got the best of me  
>And in time that's what awaits you too<br>(Lee, _Y_)

**Chapter 1**

There weren't many things in her life that had stayed the same ever since that fateful day back in the spring of 2003. Sure, she still liked cheesy puffs and _Friends _and she still shot whoever admitted to have been Team Christina instead of Team Britney a dark glare, but truth was, she had given up clinging to routines and people a long time ago. They never stayed, anyway. In fact, these days, there were only four constants that she could always rely on.

Number one? Vampires.

She had spotted the first one twenty minutes ago in front of a restaurant and she had followed it without further thought; a dark-haired teenage girl wearing last year's fashion combined with what had to be the ugliest shoes she had ever seen and who was now backing a wiry boy with hipster glasses against a brick wall in a sparsely lit alley. Naturally—it didn't even surprise her anymore—he hadn't realized that there was something seriously wrong with his date slash potential girlfriend slash murderous one-night stand and was gladly granting her access to his long, freckled neck.

Yeah, alright, she _had_ been hoping to make some kind of dramatic entrance, all hair blowing in the wind and maybe some suspenseful music playing in the background but when he actually pulled the vampire _closer_ to him, his blatant stupidity stopped her.

"Really?" she exclaimed, snorting. "Are you _blind_ or something? She went into her vampire face minutes ago."

The female vampire spun around immediately, snarling and blaring her nasty teeth at her before she came on running. The other girl easily threw her backwards and onto the ground.

"Run," she said with an eye-roll and glanced at the boy who was still standing frozen in his spot, mouth hanging wide open somewhere between a shocked gasp and a cry of horror, "and stop hooking up with strange women in dark alleys. Geez."

He immediately did as he was told, scurrying off in his skinny jeans like a squirrel, just as the vampire stood up from the ground and stared at her. Suddenly, there was recognition in her yellow eyes and _damn_, did it make her proud.

"_Slayer_," she whispered, raising one of her dark eyebrows...which looked absolutely ridiculous in her vampire mask, "I heard you were dead."

The vampire stalked closer to her, not going back into attacking yet, just observing, studying her with a curious look in her yellows.

The slayer grasped her stake firmly in her right hand and shrugged one shoulder. "Nope, got the wrong one," she replied. "You do know that there is, like, a _gazillion_ of us now, right? Seriously, have you been living in a cave for the last eleven years? I mean, judging by your outfit..."

The dark-haired woman launched at her with a dangerous hiss but she had already seen it coming; she knocked the brunette's legs apart casually before she leaped onto her, straddling her stomach.

"No offense but what is it with you undead Americans that you feel the pressing need to walk around in clothes you were most likely buried in half a century ago?" she continued. "Look at me! I've been carrying the burden of slayerhood since I was seven. Do I use that as an excuse to run around like a total hobo? _No_. So why do you refuse to-"

Her customized ring tone interrupted her little rant and she immediately knew who was on the other line before The Police could go on singing _Every Breath You Take_.

Because there were four constants in her life and constant number two was her watcher.

"Hey boss!" she chirped, pressing the tip of her stake against the vampire's chest. "How's it going?"

"Where _are_ you?"

"What do you mean where am I? Where are _you_?"

His breath was labored and she giggled softly at the thought of him chasing behind her and not being able to keep up. "This isn't funny, Hanna. Tell me where you are."

The vampire flipped them over unexpectedly so their positions were reversed. Hanna let out a surprised yelp as her cell phone landed on the concrete floor beside her head. "Can't talk! Kind of busy right now!" she called. "Just follow my voice!"

She couldn't hear his reply, of course, but she could easily picture his reaction. Sighing loudly at his slayer and going on and on about her refusing to _cooperate_ with him, about her not _taking him seriously_, because that's how it was between them. Definitely the third constant in her life: driving her watcher nuts on a daily basis.

When he finally arrived at scene, she was coughing and wiping off the vampire dust that had gotten into her blonde hair. Hanna gave him a triumphant grin. "Ding dong, the bitch is dead. Come on. Who's the best?"

"It was _one_ vampire?" her watcher asked, baffled. "It was _one_ vampire. It took you _thirty_ minutes to follow _one_ vampire and stake it?"

Hanna pouted playfully. "You never compliment me anymore," she responded in a whiny tone. "I feel like our relationship is slowly falling apart."

He only gave her a long look in response and she couldn't help but snicker again, walking over to him to hook her arm into his. "Don't be so grim, old man. Your slayer saved the world today. I say we party."

"It was _one_ vampire," he mumbled, the sternness in his voice gradually fading away. He was never mad at her for too long. "And you took off again. How many times do I have to tell you that there is no point to going on patrol _together_ if you just leave me standing in the middle of the cemetery?"

"I'm the one with superpowers, I can take care of myself," she huffed. "God, you really need a girlfriend or whatever it is that you old people do for fun, and stop babying me."

"I'm twenty-nine. I'm not old."

"I'm eighteen," Hanna reminded him. "Anything over twenty-five is, like, ancient to me. Remember?"

They exited the alley, slowly walking down the street in comfortable silence as other people passed them, completely oblivious to what had happened a mere ten minutes ago, blissfully ignorant to the creatures living among them. At times, Hanna envied them, envied their routines and their almost dull normalcy, but other times, especially now, when the rush of a recent kill was still flowing through her veins, making her giddy with adrenaline, she was immensely grateful for the turn her life had taken.

A while later, they finally reached the apartment building they were currently living in—no, not like _that_ 'cuz eew—and the blonde spoke up again. "Hey, C, I need to..."

"Please don't call me that."

"Boss."

"Don't do that either."

"_Fine_," she sighed, throwing up her hands. "Mr. Cavanaugh. Mr. Watcher. Watcher T. Toby Smalls. MC Cavanaugh...can I _please_ go on patrol alone tomorrow night?" He opened the door to their apartment and gave her another one of his trademarked looks so she rushed to get out the rest of her sentence as fast as possible, "I need to learn how to do stuff on my own and if I have to constantly worry about you getting lost because your legs are, like, way too human-y slow, I can never get anything done."

Toby took off his jacket and threw it over the back of the chair in the kitchen area without answering her question. That was good. At least he was _thinking_ about it. She bit her lower lip and rocked back and forth on her heels.

"Hanna," he eventually said. "We discussed this. I don't think you're ready-"

She cut him off by groaning loudly. "You are the lamest watcher in existence."

Chuckling, he raised one eyebrow at her. "And you are the lamest slayer in existence."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"_Am not_."

"Are too."

Furrowing her brows, she punched him in his arm. Gently, though, because it was definitely not meant to hurt. Still, that didn't stop her slayer powers from making it hurt and he grasped his bicep automatically, drawing in a sharp breath, as she walked into her room, giving a smug smile.

And that was constant number four: as much as being a slayer sucked, sometimes, it was still _pretty damn awesome_.

* * *

><p>Toby had given up trying to change Hanna a long, long time ago. Yes, she was undoubtedly an incredibly talented slayer but she was also immensely sarcastic, quick-witted and far too stubborn for her own good. Smiling a little as he went to order himself a drink at the bar, he thought back to their first meeting in England where thirteen-year-old Hanna had been sent off to after losing her first watcher under tragic circumstances. She had immediately expressed her dislike for him and he couldn't blame her. He had been only twenty-three, maybe twenty-four already, absolutely inexperienced with slayers and having just finished his training as watcher a month ago, after spending most of the required years behind the secured walls of the new Watchers Council. Needless to say, she wasn't what he had been expecting, what he had been taught, what he had been looking forward to work with, either.<p>

Over the years, his strict orders of "You are patrolling tonight" had slowly transformed into "Can you _please_ go on patrol tonight?" and more often than not, they became "Hey Hanna, if you don't have any plans, could you, maybe, do a quick sweep through the cemetery? But it's not a big deal if you don't want to..." and he knew that she had him tightly wrapped around her finger and he knew that she knew it, too, milking it at every opportunity she got. Batting eyelashes and innocent smiles and sucking up to him like to an older brother. It was probably his fault, anyway, for giving her as much space as she needed, for being too _emotionally invested_ in that little girl with her pigtails from five years ago but no matter how angry he got with her—and it happened almost every _day_ and he couldn't help but think that she liked to make him mad on purpose—he could never _stay_ angry with her. Not really.

And now they were in Columbus, Ohio. Their eight week, to be precise. The Watchers Council, being in charge of all the slayers and watchers in the world and all that, had sent them here, stating that one of the slayers had passed and that the city was in need of a new one. Hanna had always wanted to be a Real Slayer—whenever Toby told her that she already was a real one, Hanna would wave it off, explaining to him that a _real_ slayer was protecting a town or a city on her own..."like some sort of superhero with a cape, you know?"—but she still hadn't taken the news very well. Truth be told, Toby hadn't either. Their lives in Seattle had been pretty good, something they hadn't wanted to leave behind, but neither had dared to protest against the decision that had been made for them.

Grabbing his drink, he turned to go back to his table and, lost in thought as he was, walked right into a person. No, he realized as he hastily looked up to apologize. Not just a person. It was her. Again. As cheesy as it sounded—and god, he knew that it sounded immensely cheesy—he would recognize those eyes anywhere.

"Sorry," Toby said quickly, reaching behind him to grab a few napkins from the bar and handed them to her, "I didn't look where I was going."

"It's alright. You didn't make me spill my drink this time," she said, smiling up at him broadly, and he noted that she was, once again, carrying a Margarita. "We keep on meeting like this. Almost as if the universe is trying to tell us something, right?"

When he didn't answer right away, too dumbstruck to even form a word, she raised one of her eyebrows provocatively, her smile still not faltering. "I'll try to think of a better pick-up line next time," she added in a low—was it _seductive?—_voice, moving past him but not before she made sure her hip nudged into his side playfully while doing so.

Toby watched her disappear in the crowd and turn her head slightly to throw him another glance, and he exhaled loudly. Had she been flirting with him? He couldn't tell. No matter how hard he tried to read her, he always ended up being wrong. Three weeks ago, he had approached her as she was sitting at an empty table, sipping her drink and scanning the crowd with those beautiful doe eyes of hers, and she had been unusually quiet and distant. Not that he knew what her usual mood was, anyway; he didn't even know her name and instead called her Margarita Girl in his head, due to the cocktail she seemed to constantly carry around with her wherever she went. So three weeks ago, she had completely ignored him, only smiling a little whenever her soft gaze met his, completely in contrast to their usual banter, and the next time they met, four days later, she had practically _dragged_ him onto the dance floor despite his protests, forcing him through at least five songs, all sensual and grinding and touching and her hot breath on his face until...well, until she had disappeared without an explanation.

Margarita Girl was hard to read and his unexplainable shyness around her didn't help much either.

Now sitting at his usual spot, he sighed once more, trying to get his mind off of her, took out a notebook and pen out of his bag and began to write. Another thing that was different about Columbus was the resident Slayer School. Back in Seattle, there was only a small group of ten slayers and their watchers. They'd schedule a casual gathering every now and then, where the watchers exchanged some formalities and the slayers bragged about their recent achievements and that was it. Here, everything was much stricter. He had to report back every single vampire, demon and whatnot Hanna killed, keeping a journal about her patrols and daily training routine. Toby had gotten so used to the laziness of the Seattle watchers that he had almost entirely forgotten how to _keep_ a proper watcher's journal. Hell, he couldn't even remember the right words for all the fighting techniques there were.

"So...do you come here often?"

Frowning, he looked up. Margarita Girl. Naturally. He felt his frown melt into a grin. "Is that the best pick-up line you could think of?"

She gave a loud, raspy laugh and he realized that he was hearing it for the first time. He had already seen her dazzling smile—memorized it perfectly, even—knew her grins and her smirks but he had never heard her laugh before. "I said I would _try_ to think of one," she retorted easily and sat down across from him, setting down her Margarita next to his Gin & Tonic. "What? You think you know a better one?"

Toby mulled that over, closing his notebook when he saw her glance down at it. "Okay, here's one: Have you been to San Francisco?"

Margarita Girl gave another laugh and threw her head back. "Wow. I'm impressed. _Have you been to San Francisco? _Never heard that before."

"No, that's not...I'm from San Fran, originally, and for this line to work, you have to say _why _when I ask you_, _alright? Let's try that again. Have you been to San Francisco?"

"Nope," she replied and shook her head, eyes holding an amused twinkle. "Why?"

"Really? Didn't we take a class together? I could have sworn we had chemistry."

For a moment or two, she merely blinked at him, then she started roaring with laughter and even though one part of him wanted to blush furiously, another part was immensely pleased with himself for getting that kind of reaction out of her. "Oh god," she gasped, holding a hand against her chest, "oh god, that was so bad. I gotta remember that."

"Told you," he replied, sipping at this drink, "I'm really good at this."

Toby saw her freeze for a second so small, he was almost sure he was merely imagining it but then she turned her head to throw a look behind her left shoulder. As always, he didn't know what to make of it; that thought was already forgotten, however, when she faced him again, smirking a little this time.

"Really? Good at what? Picking up girls? Flirting?" she countered. "I mean, have you realized that it's almost always me who approaches you...asks you to dance with me..." She ran a hand through her dark hair, brushing some of it out of her face. "I've been flirting with you for almost _seven_ _weeks_—and in case you haven't noticed, I'm doing it right now—and you still haven't asked what my name is."

He didn't reply and simply glanced at her. She began laughing again. "What?"

"Well, aren't you telling me?" he inquired.

"No. You have to ask nicely," Margarita Girl said, tilting her head, before a frown appeared between her eyebrows. "Do you hear that? Is that..._is that the Batman theme_?"

Toby listened up intently, mimicking her frown, until he eventually figured out that the sound was coming out of his bag. Right. Hanna had insisted on designing a ring tone for when she called him and after he had vehemently opposed _Run the World (Girls)_, she had scoffed and done whatever she wanted, as per usual. "I'm sorry, that's my phone," he told the woman in front of him whose lips broke into yet another smile; it was addicting to watch, especially since he knew that it was meant for him, "I didn't set that ring tone. My...uh...um..." And with that, her smile was gone. She crossed her arms, face hardening almost instantly. "..._little sister_ did," he finished lamely. He picked up the call.

"What is it, Hanna?" he asked, his tone a little harsher than intended.

"C, you gotta come outside, like, now-ish?" Hanna's voice came. "I need your help."

"What happened?" he said, already getting in motion and packing away his things. He shot the brown-haired woman an apologetic look but she was not looking back at him, her head once more turned to watch whatever it was that had been bothering her all night instead. "What's wrong?"

"Come outside. Back alley. Now," his slayer merely answered and hung up.

Toby stared at his phone for another moment before storing it away in his back pocket. He turned to Margarita Girl. "Sorry...my...umm..._sister_...needs my help with something."

"No, actually, I need to leave, too," she answered, glancing down at her own phone, getting up and finishing her drink hastily. "See you around."

He was, once again, too mesmerized by her beauty to even remember that Hanna was waiting for him outside and probably in trouble, and allowed himself to bask a little longer until she gave him another smile, a strained one this time, and started to walk away.

"Hey, hang on," he called after her, "what _is_ your name?"

"You didn't ask nicely," she merely replied before disappearing in the crowd.

Why had he stood up again? Oh. Right. _Hanna_. He hurried to the back entrance of the bar, hands already busy searching for the stake he kept with him at all times, pulled the door open and almost ran into the blonde in question on his way out.

"What happened? A demon? A vampire?"

"More like a bouncer," Hanna said grumpily.

Toby blinked. "What?"

She shoved an ID into his face, shaking it a little. "He said that this was fake and that he would call the cops if I didn't leave."

"_What_?"

Hanna sighed. "Geez, boss, are you deaf or something? It was boring at home and I wanted to go out and I came here and the bouncer was all..._I don't think you're twenty-one_ and then he said this ID was fake. Can you believe him?"

Snatching the ID out of her hands, he opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and opened it again. "_This_ is your emergency? You're eighteen. Find another bar. Or go home."

"It _totally_ is an emergency," Hanna retorted in her usual whiny tone she adapted whenever she tried to talk him into something, moving to get her fake ID back but he held it above her head, taking advantage of the only thing between them where he knew he would win. "Can't you just get me in? I can't open that door from the outside."

"Go. Home," Toby repeated. "I'm not your buddy or your stoner cousin or your cooler older brother, Hanna. I'm not smuggling you into a bar."

"This is so unfair! Why do you always get to have fun and get drunk?"

"Why can't you _for once_ do as I tell you?"

"Why can't you _for once_ be nice to me?"

"I'm always nice to you-"

"No, you are not! It's always Hanna this and Hanna that..."

Neither of them had noticed the vampire that was creeping up on them, not even Hanna, so when it exploded right in front of the blonde, Toby accidentally swallowed some of the dust and his slayer gave a very un-slayer-like, surprised screech. They stopped their banter right then and now, Hanna waving her hand to clear off her sight, and frowned at their rescuer.

"Well...a _thank you_ would be nice."

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Trust me: whatever you think is going to happen is most likely wrong. Unless you're psychic and I'm an even worse author than I'd initially thought. Then you may be right. But don't jump to any conclusions yet.

Anyway, I have three parts with ten chapters each and _maybe_ an epilog planned out, and I'm currently in the middle of writing chapter six. Which basically means you'll be getting pretty regular updates, next one around next week-ish. Are y'all excited? I know I am.

Thanks for reading and I hope you have a great weekend. See you next week.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part One:** The Cruel Sister**  
>Chapter 2<strong>

"Well...a _thank you_ would be nice."

After her initial shock wore off just enough and the swirling vampire dust settled down, Hanna took a moment to exchange a very confused look with her watcher and then let her gaze move back to the blond man who was storing away a stake in the inside pockets of his leather jacket. She saw that he was carrying other weapons in there, too, some small knives, mostly, and various stakes; he looked all kinds of ridiculous, like a try-hard, revengeful anti-hero on a mission. The worn-out jeans didn't help much either.

When the pair didn't speak up and Hanna crossed her arms defiantly, the man sighed. "Look," he began in a friendly, patient voice as though he was used to doing this, "I know that was probably very scary for you but you-"

"Oh, stop that crap, I know what that was," Hanna cut him off, waving her hand and still eying him suspiciously. "What's more interesting to me is how _you _know about vampires. What do you think you're doing here with your boy toys?

The frosty look she gave him was meant to be intimidating but he merely started chuckling. That was a first. "Wow, what an attitude...and _that_ glare. Feels familiar somehow," he replied, grinning. "You must be a slayer, I take. Sorry. Didn't know who you were and certainly didn't wanna take away the kill from you but you two seemed pretty clueless so I thought you needed help."

"Excuse me? Clueless? No. That was my plan all along. I was totally counting on-"

"So you're the replacement, then?" the man continued without acknowledging Hanna's highly offended expression or the way her eyes narrowed dangerously. "I didn't think you'd be so young, to be honest."

Finally, her beloved watcher spoke up. Good. Hanna was actually starting to think he might have accidentally swallowed his tongue or something. "You knew the last slayer?" Toby asked, frowning.

The other man didn't answer right away, instead squaring his shoulders a little with a grimace before he exhaled loudly. "She was my sister," he eventually said and there was something about his tone that indicated that he was _extremely_ uncomfortable with the current topic. Curious to find out what had exactly happened to her predecessor, Hanna wanted to press on, opening her mouth to voice her questions, but Toby put one hand on her bare arm to stop her. She mouthed an annoyed "_What?" _at him, sighing when he merely shook his head slightly. He was probably going to give her yet another talk about empathy and grieving people once the man was gone. God, just because she had staked that little girl on her funeral that _one time_ didn't mean that she was a soulless monster. She rolled her eyes at Toby and poked him in the ribs.

"I've been doing this for a while now. Hunting demons, slaying vampires, patrolling," the man then said, "even when my sister was still alive."

"That's great and I'm really sorry about your sister. I'm sure she was a talented slayer even though she died and all that," Hanna replied, ignoring the way Toby's long fingers curled around her upper arm once more, "but I don't like civilians getting in my way. Stick to a different part of town. This one's mine."

"Yeah, I guess I see your point...what was your name again?" The man picked up the fake ID that had fallen out of Toby's hands when the vampire had attacked them and inspected it for a beat or two before he gave it back to the blonde girl, "_Hanna Marin_ who, I'm sure, is twenty-one, just like this ID here says but thing is, this used to be my sister's territory, handed to her by the _almighty_ Slayer School and now that she's gone, it's mine. Don't worry. I'll keep the streets safe. Thanks for the help, though, Slayer. Nice meeting you and all."

He turned to walk away and Hanna, in turn, spun around to face her watcher with a glare. "Can I punch him?" she hissed.

"Hey, wait up, I'm sure we can find a way for this to work," Toby shouted but the blond man ignored him.

They watched him disappear at the end of the alley, Hanna crossing her arms again and Toby sighing until his slayer snorted loudly. "What a jerk," she told her mentor to which he, surprisingly, didn't object. "Thanks for sticking up for me, by the way. Much appreciated. Just because your job description reads _watcher_, doesn't mean you only gotta _watch_ when your slayer gets verbally attacked by stupid demon hunters in stupid leather jackets."

Toby raised his hands defensively. "That man just lost his sister. Give him a break."

"Yeah, his sister is dead but he isn't and if I die saving him because he'll undoubtedly get himself into trouble, I'll come back and haunt your ass, Cavanaugh." She paused. "Wait, do ghosts even exist? What about unicorns? And dragons? Is god real? Why don't you ever teach me anything useful?"

"Because you never listen to me, anyway?"

"True," Hanna agreed, nodding absentmindedly, "but I'm listening now. I mean, we could, like, talk about all of this over a drink...if you just went back inside and opened this little door here for me..."

"Nice try but no."

"Pfft. Hate you."

* * *

><p>The next day, they arrived at the Slayer School at precisely eight in the morning. Hanna was in an especially foul mood, just like she always was when she had to wake up this early. It was not as though she needed that much sleep. Theoretically, anyway. The body of a slayer worked in ways which his fragile human body did not quite comprehend, more often than not wide awake after a mere hour of blissful slumber, and, as he had unfortunately learned during one eventful week back in Seattle, where one of Hanna's then-friends had stayed with them while her watcher was away, being able to lie awake for <em>days<em>, all chipper and like a kid who was fed too much candy. Something in Hanna's body had apparently decided to blatantly ignore that rule, though, because when she wasn't able to get her minimum of eight hours, she got unusually snappy. Somehow he was really glad that he'd just knocked at her door softly instead of entering her room to raise her out of her sleep because the loud thump of her stiletto aggressively hitting the wall was still echoing in his head. He could never tell whether her spirit, her temper, was a Hanna trait or a slayer one. Probably a very, _very_ frightening mix of both.

They were now standing in the gym, Hanna drowning her fifth cup of coffee, Toby sipping at his second. It was still very early but there were already other girls rushing inside, some of them accompanied by their watchers, others alone until they spotted one of their friends and rushed to greet them. Toby thought how strange it looked, the way they kept on giggling with each other, telling the other girls' about their weekend activities, discussing mindless topics such as boyfriends, girlfriends, movies, music...they looked almost normal, not like the girls they would one day become at night, roaming cemeteries and mausoleums, cutting necks and breaking arms. He briefly wondered whether Hanna had made any friends yet but the question died in his throat when he saw a group of girls shoot her a very nasty look and the blonde slayer drop her gaze bashfully. _Right_. The younger slayers—or rather, Baby Slayers, as they called them—were are all at _real_ school, some of them getting ready for college, others just hoping to at least receive their high-school diploma, and the girls that were here right now, all of them older than _his_ girl, had probably been waiting _for years_ to finally trade up on the food chain, only to have Hanna sweep in and steal the spotlight. He caught a glimpse of a dark-haired slayer entering the gym and exhaled in relief when she waved at Hanna politely. At least there was one of them she liked.

"That's Trina, the other one, remember? You know her watcher," the blonde told him in a low voice, waving back with a strained smile, "I _hate_ her."

"But you just—why are you being all smiling and-"

"God, Tobes, you know nothing about slayers, don't you?" Hanna interrupted him, rolling her eyes. "It's all about competitiveness. We'll never get along with each other. Not really, anyway, because initially, there was supposed to be only _one_. And now there are, like, thirty billions of us."

"Five hundred, maybe five hundred fifty," he corrected her. "And anyway, you did have some slayer friends in Seattle. What about Zahra? What about Ivana?"

"Yeah, we were total besties. That's why Zahra and I got into this random fist fight because she kept on insisting that she was stronger than me," Hanna replied darkly. "Which she wasn't, by the way. Besides, that's completely different. Seattle belonged to all ten of us. Now it's only me and Trina guiding the city and playing superhero at night..._and_ all these other girls who have been here most of their lives and _still_ don't get to call themselves anything but Baby Slayer or Slayer-in-training and..." Trailing off with a happy smile—a genuine one, this time—she took a little step forward to look over his shoulder.

But Toby didn't immediately pick up on the abrupt change in her mood and continued, "That's not your fault, though. You didn't ask to be send here. That was not your decision."

"Uh-huh," Hanna responded distractedly.

"The Watchers Council thought that _you _would be the best replacement for the slayer that died. Not any of them. They're just-"

"Yeah, sure," she said, "anything you say, boss."

Now curious to find out what had caught her attention, Toby turned his head slightly. A tall woman with darker skin, who he recognized from the meetings but whose name he'd already forgotten, was talking to a group of three watchers in training right behind her. They were quite young, too, obviously extremely nervous and writing in the notebooks they carried with them. Thinking back to his early days as Junior Watcher, Toby couldn't suppress his grin and was surprised to find the same grin on Hanna's face when he faced her once more.

"What are you looking at?" he questioned with furrowed brows. "_Who_ are you looking at?"

The blonde's grin transformed into a sensual smirk—something he didn't _ever_ want to see on her face again—and she waved once more, fingers waggling almost flirtatiously. Then her head snapped back to her watcher. "Huh?"

"What were you looking at?"

"Nothing," she said quickly. Too quickly. "Come on, let's train!"

And with that, she was off, walking over to the weapon cabinet with a spring in her step, blonde curls bouncing around her shoulders, sporting a very bright and very contagious smile. He followed her after he disposed of their cups and napkins. Given her sudden eagerness and the way she kept on giggling when he bandaged her hands, he seriously thought that their training would go well. He couldn't have been more wrong though.

"Hanna, you're not concentrating," Toby exclaimed forty minutes in. "You have to concentrate."

The blonde shot him a dark look, holding her arm. "I'd like to see _you_ concentrate when there's someone throwing freaking knives at you."

"You usually dodge them like nothing," he countered. "What's up with you today?"

"Nothing! Geez! And stop freaking out over _that, _it's just a scratch." Hanna pulled her arm out of his grasp forcefully and shrugged him off when he moved to inspect her other arm. "Oh, look, all the watchers are leaving for the meeting. You can go now. I'll continue to train on my own."

Toby checked his wrist watch and noted that she was right. "You sure? I could-"

"Yes, _Tobias_, I'm way sure," she chirped, nodding hastily, and started pushing him towards the exit as gently as possible. "You can pick me up later! Love you!"

Toby was about to protest but she cut him off once more by pressing a quick peck to his cheek and opening the door for him. "Have fun! Bring me some food when you're out! Fries would be great!"

The woman from before gave them a friendly smile when she passed the slayer and her mentor, and walked out of the door, not accompanied by her watchers in training. Toby saw that the three of them—one boy, two girls, all of them in their late teens or early twenties—were still standing in the middle of the gym, looking a little lost and out of place. The slayers didn't pay any attention to them.

"You can go now!" Hanna urged. "Bye!"

"Bye," he repeated with one last confused glance and then he left the gym, too.

The meeting was...well, to put it mildly, dull. Whatever Team Sunnydale had had in mind when they'd performed their spell back in 2003 and founded the new Watchers Council, he didn't know, but something inside him felt as though this was not it. Controlling watchers and obedient slayers, almost all of them torn away from their families and homes at a very young age, strictly following ancient rules made up _centuries_ ago. And boring meetings. Immensely boring meetings.

Toby was seated next to Trina's watcher, Richard Philips, a man in his thirties, who was both a heavy smoker and drinker, and, going by his facial expression, enjoying this gathering about as much as Toby did. His shaky legs would constantly bump into Toby's while nervous fingers kept on playing with his lips, not even bothering to follow the conversation.

"Here," Toby whispered and handed him a piece of gum. "Ten more minutes, then you're free to come out of cold turkey."

"Thanks," Richard replied in an equally hushed tone. "Maybe it's just me but I'm bored out of my mind."

The other watcher pointed at his notebook where he'd started drawing half an hour ago. "Trust me. It's not just you."

"Anything interesting happen in Hanna's part of town lately?" Richard then asked. "Trina slays some vampires here and there but all in all, it's so quiet, I can't help but think that something big is coming soon, you know?"

"No, nothing unusual," Toby answered, shaking his head, until he remembered. "Although we did meet this man last night. He called himself demon hunter. Looked like one, too."

"Jason DiLaurentis?"

"You know him?"

"Not personally, no," Richard said and gave a shrug. "I know _of _him. Trina said she saw him once or twice and according to her, he's harmless. Just a regular man. He normally sticks to Hanna's part of town, though, so I can neither confirm nor deny because we haven't met. You should ask Miss Fields about it. It's her old slayer's brother."

"Yeah, he mentioned something about that," Toby said and pointed at a female watcher at the end of the table they were sitting at. "That's Miss Fields, right?"

Richard shook his head. "No, that's Miss Hall. _That's_ Miss Fields. You finally gotta learn those names."

It was the same woman Toby had seen in the gym. In contrast to Richard and him, she was following the meeting quite actively, scribbling down notes, entering the conversation, suggesting ideas and giving out advice. Without the smile he'd seen on her lips a while earlier and her students trailing behind her like little ducklings, she seemed extraordinarily somber, though.

"Why is she so sad?"

The older man chuckled. "She's lost her slayer, what do you expect? Was her first and a pretty talented one, too," he said almost casually. "They wanted to give her a new one but she declined. She's now responsible for our Junior Watchers. Ah, well, give her a couple of months and she'll get over it. The first one always gets you—makes you sad and all that. I've lost four, Trina's my fifth. You'll be the same way when Hanna dies but after the second, it's all the same damn thing."

"_If _Hanna dies," Toby responded.

"Not _if_. There's no _ifs _with slayers. She's gonna go on a mission one day and die. That's a fact." Richard patted his shoulder. "Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, but one day, she will. They're strong but they're not invincible. Look at Emily Fields. No matter how much you teach and train 'em, no matter how careful you are, no matter how convinced you are that your slayer's gonna make it past thirty, one bastard will come around and kill her. A powerful demon or witch, maybe, but most likely one regular vampire that just crawled out of its grave. My first didn't even put up a fight. I was there that night. She could have easily dusted him, had her stake in her hand, but he killed her, anyway. And she let him. I was so disappointed in her."

"Disappointed?" Toby echoed. "You were _disappointed_ because your slayer died? You make it sound like she was a toy or a weapon. She was a person. Just like Miss Fields' old slayer, just like Hanna, just like every other girl in this building."

With another last pat to the other man's shoulder, Richard stood up from his chair and stretched leisurely. "Meeting's over. I'm gonna go see what Trina's doing. Thanks for the gum."

Toby stood up, too, blinking at his surroundings. The other watchers were already getting in motion, packing away their things, chatting with each other quietly. He had left Seattle for _this_. For this crappy school that treated its students like their personal property. Yeah, sure, what Team Sunnydale had had in mind back then, he didn't know, but he was sure that this wasn't it.

Outside the conference room, he lost sight of Emily Fields who he last saw hurrying down the hallway, no doubt to get back to her Junior Watchers, and for a second, he contemplated running after her, to ask her some questions about Jason DiLaurentis and maybe some about her slayer, too, but then Hanna gave him a punch in his arm.

"How'd it go?" she asked lightheartedly. She didn't look as if she'd spent the last four hours training like she'd said she would and he knew without asking that she hadn't, not really, but he decided to let it pass. "Can we go eat something now?"

He nodded, smiling a little when she hooked her arm into his like she so often did, and they ended up having a nice lunch in one of Hanna's favorite restaurants. The awful conversation with Richard kept replaying in his mind, though, when the blonde left the apartment "to do some...stuff" around mid-afternoon and he spent some time with the books he'd gotten from the watchers library; didn't leave him alone when they met up for patrol some hours later and Hanna got that gleeful twinkle in her blues after fighting and dusting three vampires in a row; didn't get out of his head, even when they decided to call it a night and go to a bar, an all-ages one this time, and Hanna kept mumbling, "I've paid so much for this shitty ID and you won't even let me use it" under her breath.

It was definitely his fault, anyway. For getting so attached to that sweet, little, innocent girl from five years ago that the mere thought of something, _anything_, happening to her left him uneasy and restless.

"So, what do you want?" he asked Hanna. "A coke?"

Hanna rested her chin in her palm, raising both eyebrows. "Mojito," she said with a grin, waggling her eyebrows, then pursed her lips on Toby's stern look. "Just kidding. Coke's fine. I'm just gonna go to the restroom real quick."

He was standing at the bar a little later, trying to get the bartender's attention, when someone nudged him in his side playfully. Half-expecting to find Hanna on his right, as this was her way of communicating with him, he turned his head, ready to tell her that he would certainly _not_ buy her a Mojito, and was pleasantly surprised at the sight of Margarita Girl. She wasn't wearing a dress or one of those skirts he'd usually seen her in; instead, she was dressed in a casual top and a pair of dark pants, a cross around her neck and numerous hair ties around her left wrist, dark hair tied in a ponytail. Even though her radiant smile was the same as always, she looked so much younger tonight, not like the twenty-six-year-old woman she was.

"Twice in two nights at two different places," she remarked and made a humming noise. "What a coincidence."

"What was it that you said? Almost as if the universe is trying to tell us something?"

At that, she gave him a little smirk, then dropped her gaze. "Listen, I..."

"Gin Tonic, coke," Toby told the bartender who'd finally come over to him, "and a Margarita...right?"

The brunette shook her head slowly. "I would _love _to but I was just leaving," she replied, shrugging one shoulder meekly. He couldn't tell if the disappointment in her voice was genuine but he was pretty sure that she probably could see it plastered all over his face. "But then I saw you and I wanted to—wait, _two _drinks? Are you here with someone?"

"My, uh, little sister," he responded and tried not to flinch when she stared right into his eyes as if to check whether he was lying or not. The sudden and very cold, and _very scary,_ gleam in her browns looked eerily familiar but he simply couldn't figure out where he had seen it before. "Hence the coke."

Margarita Girl broke their eye contact, made another humming noise and then took out her phone out of her jeans pocket. "Anyway," she continued, "since I'm generally a very unlucky person—and I mean really, _really_ unlucky—and someone up there usually screws up everything for me, I've decided to take matters into my own hands. After seven weeks, I think it's time we exchanged phone numbers, right?"

Not waiting for an answer, she handed him her phone, raising her brows when he didn't start entering in his number right away. She let her fingers linger on his palm for a little longer than appropriate and he couldn't help it, he inhaled sharply at her touch, at the way her soft skin felt against his and he was _this_ close to give a humiliated sigh but then she giggled. A careless, raspy giggle. Yup, that woman was going to drive him crazy.

"Guess you were right. We do have chemistry," she commented in an easy-going voice, taking the phone back and typing away on it for a few seconds; he immediately felt his own vibrate lightly against his thigh. "I just sent you a text. Now you've got my number, too. See, wasn't that bad, was it?"

"No, it wasn't," he agreed, feeling a little dizzy, "but I still don't know what I'm supposed to save you under, Rumpelstiltskin."

She put her phone back into her pocket. "Well," she began, "what do you call me in your head?"

Feeling a blush crawl up his neck and to his cheeks, he mumbled, "Ummm...Margarita Girl."

The dark-haired woman beamed at him. "Margarita Girl. That's creative. Just save me under that. I mean, I put you in under Pretty Eyes—that's what I call _you_ in my head." She stood on her toes to brush her lips against his cheek. "I gotta go now. Have a great night. Call me."

Picking up Hanna's and his drinks from the counter, Toby watched her walk away with a goofy grin stretching his lips and moved to go back to their table but once again, he was interrupted. His blonde slayer threw up her hands dramatically when she saw him, giving an annoyed growl, and then stalked closer to him. "There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere!"

Coming upon Margarita Girl unexpectedly had already left him feeling like a stammering, teenage boy again and Hanna's irritated scoff only made it worse. "I'm sorry, I was just-"

She waved one hand at him grumpily, shaking her head. "Whatever! Just come with me! We've got a serious problem."

Frowning, he put the drinks back down and followed her to the back of the bar where she vanished in the ladies' room. He hesitated, throwing a quick, nervous look left and right, before he went inside, too, and then he suddenly wished he hadn't.

There were two dead bodies sitting on the ground, their backs resting against each other, and both of them with strange markings on their necks. Most likely vampire bites. All of it was much messier than it should have been: splatters of blood on the floor, the walls, the victims' faces, their clothes torn, some of their limbs bent at an unnatural angle. It looked as though...as though...

"Someone wanted you to find this," Toby stated, stepping over a pool of blood and inching closer to the male victim whose empty eyes were widened in fright, "this looks like a carefully arranged scene."

Hanna snorted and pointed at the writing on the mirror he hadn't noticed before. "Gee...ya think?"

Hastily written in dark red letters, it said: _Welcome to Columbus, Slayer. I hope you enjoy my little gift. See you soon._

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Guys, come on, did you really think I could write a PLL crossover without taking at least _some_ of its ideas and putting my own spin on it? Puh-lease. I know this chapter was kind of slow but the next two are actually two of my favorites so far and I hope you'll have as much fun reading as I had writing.

Before I forget: Thank you all so, so, so much for reading, favoriting, following and reviewing! It means a lot and makes me so happy. Like, really happy. Ridiculously happy. I'll be at school and get your mails and then I suddenly feel like I'm in a Pharrell video. So, yeah, thanks, guys, y'all rock. Anyway, next update should be ready either Friday or Saturday.

**Responses to reviews because after more than six years on FF, I still haven't figured out how to reply privately:**

**caitycaites**: Thank you! Yes, you definitely will. Spencer's in every single chapter, actually.

**Guest Number One: **Whoo! Thanks! Yeah, I agree, there's never enough Spencer. You'll see her in every chapter of this fic, sometimes short meetings like the one in this chapter, sometimes longer conversations and Spoby being awkward idiots, and if you're anything like me and _still_ think that's not enough Spence, she'll be around _a lot_ more after chapter four. As for Caleb: next chapter!

**emmaleewhittaker**: Yay, a Buffy fan! Thank you!

**Guest Number Two**: Yay, another Buffy fan! No, thank _you_, you're the greatest! To be honest, Hanna actually reminds me of S1!Buffy a lot, especially when she has her Hanna and Hanna-isms moments. I feel like she'd be a great slayer.

**Guest Number Three**: Thank you! Writing Hanna is so much fun and I'm glad you think I've done her justice.

Bye now! See you Friday!


	3. Chapter 3

**Part One:** The Cruel Sister  
><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

She didn't scare easily. Even as a kid, before any of this had started, she'd usually been the most adventurous, courageous one of her friends; climbing trees none of the other girls and boys in their neighborhood dared to climb, crawling into caves none of the other kids wanted to explore, jumping from swings and always the first one to give that not-so-great-looking dish a try. Maybe that had already been an early manifestation of her slayerness, her _potential_ powers, that had gone on to become _actual_ powers, running through her body, making her different than the other kids, making her special, making her unique. Well, more or less unique. But she didn't scare easily. She'd fought nasty demons two, sometimes three, times, her size; had seen her first watcher die right in front of her then-innocent and incredibly young eyes; had received a _bloody head_ and _fingers_ via mail because she'd angered some arrogant warlock...she'd seen things she wished she hadn't, had done things Toby had told her not to, had gotten herself and her sister slayers in Seattle in more than one incredibly dangerous situation but always had she kept a clear head.

Because Hanna Marin didn't scare easily.

But as they were going home in silence, she couldn't stop the images of the man and the woman in that restroom constantly flashing before her inner eye. It wasn't even the fact that she'd seen dead bodies that bothered her. Sure, it was always a bit unnerving to stumble over a dead person because no matter how long she'd been doing this and no matter how many people she'd successfully saved, coming face to face with the people she couldn't keep from dying was always something that wouldn't leave her alone for days, like one of those annoying black flies flying in circles around your head. It wasn't even the fact that they'd come to Columbus eight weeks ago and she'd already made an enemy. Truth be told, that thought kind of excited her. She was itching for a really good fight. It was the casualness that gave her an uneasy feeling. Someone, most likely a vampire, judging by the markings, anyway, had killed two people in a public setting and then taken their time to turn the restroom into a bloodbath, while she was sitting a few feet away and having a lazy conversation with her watcher.

Vampires weren't like that. Not the usual ones. They were sneaky, careful, they crept up on their victims in their human face and normally stayed out of a slayer's way because they feared her too much. But this one had practically searched her out, had counted on her walking into that restroom and finding their little gift, had waited to be found. She knew that there had always been cases of vampires actively looking for a slayer to kill and she knew that the number of demons like that had increased since the Slayer Spell. It wasn't just one chosen girl anymore; it was hundreds of them roaming the night and some vampires just ached for their own, fashionable "I Killed A Slayer, Ask Me How" button. And yet, this one wasn't like any of the three idiots she'd once fought back in Seattle; this one wasn't about the kill, it was about the chase, about the slow torture. For some reason, she got the feeling that this one was smart and knew exactly what it was doing.

And that? Well...that scared her. A little. A wee, tiny bit.

"Maybe it was a joke," Hanna eventually suggested as Toby threw his jacket over the kitchen chair and she threw herself on the sofa. "Maybe the Baby Slayers back at school did it. Maybe they are pissed I got the spot as Columbus' new slayer. Maybe they do it to newbies all the time."

She knew Toby could tell that she was spooked and was immensely grateful that he didn't make a comment about it. "I don't think so, Hanna," he replied, coming over to the living area and sitting down on the armchair across from her. "They were really dead. Do you think we should go to the morgue in a few hours? In case they were turned, I mean?"

Hanna contemplated that for a moment, then shook her head. "To become a vampire, they have to suck your blood and then you have to suck theirs," she said, mostly just to hear her own voice to distract herself from the thoughts running through her head, because he already knew how the process of siring worked; she'd learned it from him, after all, "and all that blood on the walls and the floor and their faces? Was pretty old. And not even human."

He looked surprised. "How could you tell?"

"I don't know," she replied, shrugging. "It smells different. Human blood is, like, coppery and animal blood is more, like...I don't know, I can't explain it." She gave another shrug. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure whoever killed them didn't wanna turn them. I wouldn't be surprised if they were already dead when the vampire used their necks as a chewing toy."

The sound of an incoming text message interrupted Toby's retort and Hanna instinctively reached for her purse but before she could pull out her phone, her mentor was already holding his in his hands and glancing down at it with a smile.

"Who is it?" she inquired. "Someone from school asking how my patrol went? Why are they always-"

"No," he answered distractedly without looking up and started to write back.

She frowned. "Then who is it? I'm the only person who ever texts you and I'm right here."

"It's...a friend."

"You don't have any friends," she blurted out and quickly covered her mouth after she realized what she'd said but Toby didn't pay any attention to her, still entirely focused on the new message he'd gotten. "Omigod, is it a _female_ friend?"

When he didn't answer, she stood up with a grin and moved behind him. Although he quickly pressed his phone against his chest—like _she_ usually did when she didn't want him to see _her_ texts—she managed to catch a glimpse of his screen. "Aha! _She's texting you from bed_," Hanna chanted, ruffling his hair affectionately. "That's, like, so intimate! I'm so happy you're getting laid, boss."

Then he did something she'd never seen him do before. He _blushed_. Her twenty-nine-year-old watcher blushed like a school girl gushing over her latest crush. He hadn't even blushed when she'd gotten her first period and made him read the instructions on how to put in a tampon to her from behind the closed bathroom door. It was all kinds of cute. She'd tease him mercilessly about it, Hanna decided and sat down on her previous spot, still grinning.

"Moving on," Toby said in a firm voice, putting his phone in his lap and trying _really hard_ to ignore it when it made another loud sound. "Any plans on what to do about your anonymous donor?"

"I was just going to do my usual routine," Hanna retorted. "You know, hunt them down, put a stake in their chest, swallow an ounce of vampire dust, come back home and watch _America's Got Talent._"

"It's okay to be scared-"

"I'm not scared," she cut him off. He gave her an unconvinced look and she relented. "Okay, maybe I'm a _little_ scared but, come on, boss, it's not the first time that some vamp thinks it can kill a slayer. Even if this one seems a little too much into it, to be honest. I could've gone without the whole splatter movie feeling back in that restroom. Don't worry so much. He or she will eventually show themselves and I'll kick his ass."

The smile he gave her looked more like a grimace and not even his vibrating phone helped with the tensed, jumping muscle in his jaw. "As per usual," he finally said and sighed. "Do we tell the school about this?"

"Pssh, Tobes, nope, it's just one vampire, they don't need to know everything," Hanna replied, rolling her eyes. "We both know that, if we tell them, they'll make a huge deal about it or blame me for not having, like, a sixth sense to prevent stuff like this from happening. Like they always do. Watchers are _so _stuffy. No offense though."

They say it silence after that, both lost in their own thoughts; she could tell that he was concerned about something but she didn't know what to say, not when her own heart kept on thumping against her ribs, not when her own instincts kept on whispering that a storm was coming, a big one, even though her logical side hissed back that it was just _one_ lousy vampire with way too much free time on its hands. She wasn't the one to underestimate her opponents but it was still unusual for the pair of them to freak out over two dead bodies and a message written in lipstick. It was unusual for them to freak out over literally nothing.

Eventually, she stood up with a sigh and busied herself with going through the fridge for a couple of minutes, stuffing whatever she could find into her mouth and telling her mentor that they had to go grocery shopping tomorrow. Toby hummed in agreement and watched her carefully as she retreated to her room with a small wave.

Hanna dreamed about rundown cemeteries that night, about blurry figures in dark-green robes, about her neck tickling as she ran through an empty factory, she dreamed about hands full of blood and the heart-shaped face of a young woman with big eyes, she dreamed about shackles on her wrists and the immense feeling of betrayal when someone put a stake through her heart.

* * *

><p>The week passed without any strange happenings, then another. His blonde slayer seemed to forget about the restroom incident, going back to her old confident self fast. Something about the silence made him extremely nervous and uneasy but he, too, decided to let it go, after Hanna merely rolled his eyes at him when he brought it up again. At least for now.<p>

Their nightly patrols were uneventful except for the regular vampires preying upon innocent citizens and a couple of demons that had driven over from the nearby Hellmouth in Cleveland to wreck some havoc. The days at Slayer School were slow and quiet; they trained every morning, spent some of their late afternoons and evenings in the library where Hanna skimmed books on the slayers before her with a bored expression, just like she always did, and he read though his favorite section. They did the required three hours of meditation on Saturday and Friday, sharpened her tools on a lazy Tuesday morning, Hanna spontaneously took up yoga after seeing too many YouTube videos about it while he wrote in his journal, and the watchers meetings continued to be as tiring as usual.

Trina's mentor either slept through them or merely went outside after the first hour and didn't return, to which he earned nasty glares and even nastier gossip behind his back. And yet, no one seemed to care enough to speak up about it, probably because all of them had realized a long time ago that it was a lost case, anyway. That didn't mean they treated Toby with an equal disinterest, though. Over night, Hanna and he suddenly became the main focus of their daily gatherings. He didn't know where the abrupt fixation on his slayer had come from. After all, they'd completely ignored her since the pair arrived in Columbus, only having one of the Senior Watchers browse through his journals and come to their trainings occasionally to check on her progress. It made him sort of uncomfortable; not because Hanna didn't deserve all the attention and praise she was getting, she did; not because he wasn't grateful for all the new possibilities this upgrade provided, they gained access to new weapons, much to Hanna's pleasure, and he was allowed more freedom in the library, much to his pleasure; but because they kept on comparing Trina and Hanna to each other, kept on comparing him and Richard to each other, and it was obvious which slayer they seemed to prefer right now.

Trina was polite about it, mostly. He caught her staring at Hanna a few times, always with a murderous twinkle in her eyes that vanished quickly when the blonde spun around, but other than that, she was usually very friendly to both watcher and slayer, inquiring about Hanna's part of town and sharing bits and pieces of hers, even asking her to patrol together one morning. Her mentor didn't take it as lightly as his student did and the initial spark of a decent companionship between the two men extinguished fast. Toby didn't mind it that much, actually. The older man was a decent conversational partner, yes, but he was also kind of a jackass, as Hanna had put it so eloquently.

On Wednesday during the fourth week, Toby decided that Richard Philips was, in fact, an even bigger asshole than he'd initially thought.

When he entered the meeting two and a half hours late, he was covered in a stench of booze and cheap cigar smoke. Trailing behind him was Trina with her gaze dropped in shame.

"Nice of you to join us, Rich," Roger Stevenson, Head Watcher of the School, sighed. His wife was sitting next to him and gave a soft laugh she covered with a cough halfway. "I see you brought your slayer with you. Is something wrong?"

"Speak," Richard ordered in a loud, authoritative voice but Trina only flinched, bowed her head a little more and crossed her legs. It all seemed very strange, and when Toby looked up, he noted that he wasn't the only one frowning in confusion. Seeing a slayer behave this way wasn't a common situation. Sure, all of them were still human, were still girls and young women, and on top of the weight of their calling they had to carry with them, all of them still had to deal with their personal issues. But openly displaying their distress, their discomfort, in a room full of watchers who had the power to decide upon their fate, decide whether they were fit to continue being trained, continue being in charge of protecting the world, was dangerous territory, and all of the girls knew it.

Richard threw Trina a disgusted look and turned back to Mr. Stevenson. "I told Mr. Cavanaugh I would keep quiet about this, since both he and his slayer are pretty new in town. I figured she was young, inexperienced, figured that she needed some time to adjust but after what happened last night, I can't hold on to this anymore. I have to tell someone."

Toby furrowed his brows, now thoroughly puzzled. "I seriously have no idea what you're talking about," he told Richard who ignored him.

Mr. Stevenson exchanged a look with his wife, then another with Miss Fields who was sitting on his left, and nodded. "Please continue."

"I fear that Mr. Cavanaugh's slayer isn't doing her job properly. The vampire population has exponentially increased since the passing of your slayer, Emily..." Miss Fields' face fell at the mention of her old student. She shifted in her seat, grabbed the pen from beside her notebook hastily and started scribbling down something. "...and Miss Marin isn't doing anything about it. Just a few weeks ago, Mr. Cavanaugh told me that he met Miss DiLaurentis' brother."

Mr. Stevenson raised his eyebrows. "The self-proclaimed demon hunter? He's out there? Again? I thought you talked to him, Emily?"

"I did," Miss Fields answered, not looking up from her notebook. Toby saw that she, once again, had that somber expression growing on her face. "You know he was never a big fan of us, Roger. I tried to reason with him back when she was still alive but he wouldn't have it. He still doesn't."

"I want you to talk to him again," Mr. Stevenson replied, shaking his head. "Go on, Rich. What about Jason DiLaurentis?"

Richard glanced at Trina, then back at the watchers before him. "Nothing much," he said. "Except that he's apparently helping Miss Marin since she can't seem to control the vampires in her part of town."

For a moment, Toby didn't even register what he'd said. He was too focused on the burning feeling of anger crawling up his throat but when he finally did and opened his mouth to protest, Mr. Stevenson cut him off with a wave. "Columbus is a big city, Richard. No one is expecting Miss Marin or Miss Wallace to slay every single one of them," Mr. Stevenson responded in a friendly tone. "Although I must say that the human's involvement worries me a little. Didn't your slayer use to take him on patrol with her, too, Emily?"

"Yes, sometimes she did," Miss Fields answered curtly.

"And look how _that_ turned out," Mr. Stevenson tsk-ed mockingly.

Now gripping her pen really hard, Miss Fields turned over to the next page very noisily and ignored the shocked look one of the female watchers shot her way.

Toby leaned forward on his chair a little. "We ran into him _once_, in Downtown Columbus. Hanna does her patrols alone...well, I accompany her, but that's it. I didn't even know his name until Mr. Philips told me."

"So you agree?" Richard inquired curiously. "You think she's not doing her job properly? I mean, why else would you _accompany_ her? Shouldn't a slayer be able to go on patrol alone?"

The younger man gave a dark laugh. "I'm sure that excuse comes in handy when you're too lazy and drunk to get out of your bed."

"_Gentlemen_," Mrs. Stevenson interjected with an eye-roll. "As charming as this display of testosterone is, I'm more interested in the rest of Richard's story. So what happened yesterday night that made you change your mind about not telling us about Miss DiLaurentis' brother and the vampire problem you claim Miss Marin has?"

Richard cleared his throat, coughed once, twice, cleared his throat once more, then, finally, started talking again. "Trina came home at exactly three sharp. She fought one demon, cleaned two vampire nests at Evergreen and-"

"_Yes_, that's great, Richard, I'm sure Miss Wallace had a very successful patrol and killed many, many evil creatures," Mrs. Stevenson said impatiently. A couple of other watchers chuckled lightly. "Let's move on, please."

"Well, she was on her way home, when she...oh, for fuck's sake, tell them what happened, woman."

Trina winced when he spoke to her and turned her attention to the other men and women watching her curiously. "I saw this person, I think it was a woman but I'm not so sure, it was very dark and she or he was wearing really dark clothes, and she was running away. I don't know if she started running because she saw me or if there's a different reason for it but she was running at a speed that was way too fast for a human. So I thought _vampire_ and followed her. Thought it'd take another ten or twenty minutes, maybe thirty tops. But she must have noticed that I was behind her because she kept on speeding up and was just trying to exhaust me.

"Eventually, after another fifteen minutes of running in circles, I lost her. I don't even know how because I've been patrolling Evergreen for _years _and I know that cemetery better than anyone. I know I shouldn't have given up but I said to myself..._I'll just look around for a few more minutes and then go home_...and I did and then, close to that house, where they sell headstones and stuff, there was this open grave and I went over to check it out, thinking that she'd maybe hid there or something but instead, I found a pile of body parts. Like, some hands and a few legs and stuff. Five different people, if I had to take a wild guess. It was really gross. And there was this message and it said..." Trina took out a piece of paper out of her pocket and just before she began reading, Toby felt his heart sink, a dreadful feeling spreading in his stomach. "_Slayer – didn't your watcher teach you any manners? You never said if you liked my welcome gift_."

Mr. Stevenson beckoned her over and took the paper out of her hands. After inspecting it for a few long seconds, he made a humming noise and handed it over to his wife, then to Miss Fields who immediately gave it to the male watcher next to her without even looking at it. "Mr. Cavanaugh," Mr. Stevenson said over the loud murmurs the room had broken into. "Does this seem familiar to you?"

"Of course it does," Richard barked. "It says _welcome gift_, Roger. You read it."

The older watcher didn't pay him any attention, though, and kept his gaze fixated on Toby who suddenly couldn't even remember why he and Hanna hadn't told the others anything about the restroom incident. Why had they agreed to keep mum about it? Hesitating, he took the paper from the female watcher next to him and froze when he recognized the handwriting. "Yes," he then said. "Something like this happened to us a few weeks ago. Hanna dusted the vampire that was at the scene so we thought that she'd taken care of it." Great. Now he was lying for no reason at all.

Richard huffed. "This is clearly not a vampire we're dealing with," he said to Mr. Stevenson. "No vampire in their right mind would attack a slayer in a city with a Slayer School where we currently have _forty-three _girls. It'd be a suicide mission. This is a demon. A female demon, you all heard what Trina said about the woman who ran at an unnatural speed. Miss Marin doesn't have any control over her part of town and has to ask civilians for help. She couldn't kill a demon that crossed over to Trina's territory and is responsible for the death of at least five people. Why are we even discussing this? Mr. Cavanaugh and Miss Marin don't belong here."

Although her husband nodded in agreement, Mrs. Stevenson didn't look convinced. She turned to Toby with a warm smile. "Mr. Cavanaugh, I know your parents and your sister, all three exceptionally talented watchers, and if you're anything like them, I absolutely trust your judgment with this...even if my dear husband doesn't seem to agree with me. I'm sure you gave this some thought while we were talking so I'm asking you—do you think that there's a reason why a demon would be after your slayer?"

"No," the man answered truthfully, shaking his head, "she made some enemies back home, yeah, some of them pretty revengeful, but which slayer doesn't? They're dead now, though, either killed by Hanna or one of the other slayers of the Seattle squad."

"Emily, what's your opinion on this?" Mr. Stevenson prompted. "You're usually the one who keeps the conversation flowing, why haven't you said anything?"

Hearing her name, Miss Fields glanced up from her notebook, just as the other people in the room looked at her, too, some of them offering her an encouraging smile. She returned the smiles, although Toby saw that it was, again, a very strained one. "I'm flattered that you ask, Roger, but I don't have an opinion. Whoever or rather, _whatever_ it is, a demon, a witch or, yes, even a vampire, I'm sure it'll come back soon. As for you, Rich, Mr. Cavanaugh's slayer may be a bit overwhelmed right now. She's young and it's a big city but I don't think that's a reason to send them back to Seattle. I think we can all agree that Miss Marin has a lot of potential and that Miss Wallace wasn't a natural when she arrived here, either. We have to give her some time. I have a suggestion to make but I'm not sure if-"

Mrs. Stevenson shook her head. "No, go ahead, please."

"Roger, Olivia, this isn't me undermining you. I'm not in charge or in the position to make any decisions but I always thought that two slayers for a city as huge as Columbus wasn't enough. Maybe we could let some of the older girls go on patrol with Miss Wallace and Miss Marin? At least until the increased vampire population and our anonymous creature have been taken care off. It would be a great training method and they'd have our two Senior Slayers teaching them a thing or two."

Even though Richard looked absolutely disgusted by her suggestion and ready to jump at her throat, glaring at the woman angrily, the other watchers broke into another mumbling conversation, obviously satisfied with the solution. Probably because it was their slayers Miss Fields was talking about. Hanna had been right, after all. It was always about competition, about being the best, about being the one, even with the mentors of the girls that aspired to be just that.

"As usual, Emily finds the right words," Mrs. Stevenson exclaimed happily. "I think that's a wonderful suggestion. We'll give both girls one slayer each. Different ones every night, so that there's no one complaining about unfairness to me again. We'll see how it works out and if it goes well, maybe we can think about adding one or two more? Richard, Mr. Cavanaugh, will you be able to deal with an addition to your patrols?"

Toby already knew group patrols from Seattle and didn't mind watching over another girl even though he had the feeling that Hanna was certainly going to freak out. Still, he nodded, just like Richard did, although his nod was accompanied by a very grim expression.

"And as usual, I'm outvoted. But I guess that's settled, then," Mr. Stevenson said, clasping his hands together. "Emily, you can go now. I know your Junior Watchers are waiting for you."

"Thank you," the woman said, packed her stuff and stood up from her chair. Closing his eyes for a moment, Toby sighed in relief. Crisis averted. The tension in the room melted away, too, Richard and his slayer looking a little lost between the quiet chatter and laughter that kept on erupting on the left and right of them. The piece of paper Trina had brought over to Mr. Stevenson was now lying in front of Miss Fields again. No one noticed her whitening face when her eyes landed on it, no one noticed the way her eyes widened for a split second and no one noticed the way she ran a nervous hand through her hair hastily but Toby did. And he couldn't shake the feeling that she knew exactly who had sent it.

* * *

><p>"You're still not relaxing," he told her with a semi-stern voice, sneaky fingers traveling up her spine at an achingly slow pace. She giggled softly as his hands found her shoulder blades, stroking the skin under her halter top carefully. "You have to relax or this isn't going to work."<p>

"Instead of complaining, you should make me _relax_ then," she responded in a husky whisper, turning her head slightly so that she could shoot him a flirtatious smile. His hands grasped her forearms, squeezing gently, and out of the corner of her eyes, she saw him throw a quick look behind him before his lips brushed against the back of her neck adoringly, once, twice, three times and with the fourth peck, she laughed, drawing up her shoulders. "That's not helping at all, you know."

She let out a gasp of surprise when his knee nudged her legs apart suddenly and both his hands came to a rest on her smaller ones, pushing them down so that the wooden bow was pointing towards the ground. "Nock the arrow."

"You want me to w_hat_ the _what_? That sounds really dirty."

"Load the arrow onto the string," he said with a small chuckle and under different circumstances, she might have given him a small scowl and an angry glare or two for laughing at her but his warm breath against her neck was kind of distracting and making her a little lightheaded. "We did this last week, remember?"

Blinking a couple of times to regain focus and clear her mind, she nodded hastily and did as she was told. "Oh. Right. I totally knew that."

"Good," he went on, pressing his mouth to her neck once more, "now I need you to hold the arrow on the string. Not too hard though. Just lightly."

"With three fingers, right?"

"Yup."

Then he moved to her side, motioning her to raise the bow and correcting her posture some when she did. Fingers caressed her now burning hot skin longer than necessary after he straightened her bow arm until it was parallel to the ground. "Now draw the string back to your anchor point. Remember your anchor point?"

"My cheek," she answered. "Duh. We did this last week, remember?"

With another light chuckle, he moved back behind her. "I was just asking," he replied. "Focus on your target and _stay _focused. No more relaxing. No more pulling back. No flinching. And then release the arrow by relaxing the three fingers on your string...Hanna, wait, no, that's not what I—what are you doing? You can't just-"

"Shh," the blonde made, glaring at him for a few seconds before eyelids fell closed again. "Slayer instincts. I don't need to _see_. I need to feel. I need to listen."

He groaned. "You won't be able to hear a thing because your target is a _straw dummy_ and I really don't think it can-"

Startled by the noise coming from somewhere behind her left shoulder, Hanna turned abruptly, bow still high, and released the arrow without another thought. There was a surprised shriek, followed by the sound of something heavy falling to the ground with a loud thump. She immediately opened her eyes in fear but luckily, no one was hurt. Well, yeah, Miss Fields was picking up the books and folders that had fallen out of her hands, and going by her heaving chest, she wasn't exactly happy with Hanna's attack but at least she hadn't accidentally killed someone, right? Right. Caleb rushed to the woman's side, helping her with her belongings and mumbling an apology under his breath.

Hanna lowered her bow and winced. "I'm _so_ sorry, Miss Fields. I didn't wanna shish kebab you."

"It missed me. I was just a little surprised is all. Don't worry about it. Happens to the best of us," the watcher said politely but firmly. "To the best of _you_, I mean. I don't know how to shoot an arrow. Did you learn that from Mr. Cavanaugh, Miss Marin?"

"No, Cal—_Mr. Rivers_ has been teaching me."

Miss Fields seemed pleasantly surprised as she gave the younger man an approving look. "You have? I didn't know you could to that," she told him. "I have to make a phone call before we continue our lesson from this morning. Can you find the two girls and meet me in the library in...let's say, fifteen minutes?

"Yes ma'am, will do," Caleb replied and snickered when Miss Fields shot him an annoyed look. "Yes, _Miss Fields_," he corrected himself. Taking her books from his arms, she thanked him, nodded at Hanna with a small smile, then turned around to leave the room through the same door she'd entered it.

Caleb was right at his girlfriend's side again in less than three and a half seconds, grinning goofily. "_Mr. Rivers_, huh?"

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up, Junior Watcher," she commanded but couldn't stop the small giggle that escaped her lips when he leaned in slightly to capture her lips with his own. "So...you're not canceling on me tonight again, are you? You're gonna be awake and home when I drop by after patrol? 'Cuz if you aren't-"

He cut her off with another lingering peck. "Yes, Han," he assured her, cradling her face gently. "That happened, like, once and I'm still sorry. How often are you going to keep bringing it up?"

Hanna pretended to ponder over that question. "I haven't decided yet," she finally mumbled, standing on her toes to steal another kiss from him but then the door opened again and the couple broke apart quickly. It was one of the Baby Slayers, one of the younger ones, who didn't pay much attention to them and stalked over to the weapon cabinet without a word of greeting. Hanna regarded her for a moment; she was doing it _all wrong_, going for tools she clearly didn't know how to use and someone seriously had to tell that poor girl that her outfit wasn't flattering at all. Maybe she'd do it. Later.

Caleb cleared his throat and the blonde looked back at him. "Good training," he said. "I better go now."

"Good training, yeah," Hanna echoed, stifling her amused smile. "Umm..have a nice day, Mr. Rivers."

"Yeah, you too, Miss Marin."

* * *

><p>It had been a long, <em>long <em>day. The meeting had proceeded at its usual slow pace after Richard's interruption and even though the older and obviously buzzed man had, on Mr. Stevenson's pressing requests, taken a seat and joined their conversation, Toby had felt his icy cold stare until all of them were allowed to go. The little lie he'd told was going to come back to haunt him and Hanna, he was certain, and he was also convinced that this wasn't the last of Richard's wrath they'd felt. On top of that, there still was this mysterious creature, a female creature, roaming the streets of Columbus and killing people, and Miss Fields apparently knew more about it than she let on. Maybe her dead slayer had something to do with it. Like he'd told the watchers this morning, it wasn't unusual for a slayer to make an enemy or two or a hundred...but then again, the theory certainly wouldn't explain why the creature was so obsessed with _his_ slayer now. As he changed into his sleepwear, he made a mental note to talk to Miss Fields about it next morning. If he managed to catch her, that is. Now that he thought about it, she seemed to continuously avoid him at all costs. Huh. Curious.

Most of the patrol had gone without a hitch. Richard's claim of an overpopulation was completely made up and Toby couldn't exactly say that it surprised him in the slightest. Another thing he'd been right about was Hanna's initial reaction to a Baby Slayer joining them but, ten minutes in, he'd seen her scoffs turn into triumphant smiles; smiles she shared with her equally passionate sister slayer. Later, after the girl had gone home with a spring her step, Toby had turned to his blonde student and commented on her camaraderie but Hanna had merely waved it off, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated manner.

The Chosen One was spending the night with a friend so Toby had the apartment entirely to himself, which didn't happen that often. She'd changed the name of her friend four times, first it was Julie, then Sierra, then Kathleen and eventually, Brittany, and he knew full well that all this fuss was most likely about a boy she was currently dating, and didn't want him to find out about. For some reason. After all, he'd already met most of her previous boyfriends and all of them had been decent guys but he decided to not comment on it. If she didn't want to tell him, she didn't have to. Even if the thought of not knowing who she was with all night was making him a little anxious, in that annoying older brother of a sister kind of way.

The sound of an incoming video call interrupted his thoughts and, as if on reflex, he accepted it instantly when he saw the name flash on his phone display in bright, white letters. He sat up, pushing a pillow between his back and the wall and quickly checked his appearance in the front camera. His hair was a little messy and he looked exhausted but before he could do anything about it, Margarita Girl's face appeared on his display.

She, too, was lying in bed, on her side, with a hand underneath her cheek, brown curls spread out on her pillow. Both their bedrooms were dark, he noted, only a nightstand lamp giving off a soft light. It felt really intimate somehow, as though they were in bed together, and he wasn't the only one to pick up on it.

"Pillow talk," she said with a light giggle. "How are you?"

"Had a crappy day at work but for some reason, I feel pretty great now," he answered and raised an eyebrow playfully, smirking. "How are you?"

The brunette grinned. "I have to admit, that was really smooth," she replied. "Hmmm...work was okay. I came home around five, I think, and spent most of my evening unpacking boxes. I'd love to show you around but I've also had...three or _maybe _four glasses of wine and right now, there's no way I'll be able to stand up from this bed without tripping over my own feet."

She'd moved from Cleveland to Columbus not long before Hanna and he had, she'd told him during their first conversation, living with some of her relatives in Whitehall until she'd finally found an affordable apartment. She was a kindergarten teacher, and someone who loved her job and kids dearly; he'd told her that he was a teacher, too, a teacher at the All-Girls Private School in the southwest of Columbus, the Slayer School's public cover-up, which wasn't exactly a lie but not necessarily the truth either. He felt guilty for being dishonest with her, especially when those mocha eyes kept glancing at him from under thick lashes all adorable.

Toby forced his head back into the conversation. "You can send me some pictures tomorrow. If you want, I mean."

"Orrrrr you could come over some time. I could definitely need some help with..._things_...I don't know what yet but I'll think of something...a strong man like you helping me out with all this stuff a fragile girl like me can't..." she trailed off, furrowing her brows. "I'm sorry but _goddamn._ Where have you been hiding those arms until now? Did you take your shirt off just to distract me? It's working."

It was his turn to laugh. "_No,_ that's how I go to bed, I didn't know you'd call," he protested. "I feel violated."

"Too bad 'cuz _I_ feel attracted. To you, I mean. Not that I didn't before but now it's just...ugh," she giggled and covered her face with the hand that wasn't holding her phone. "I'm sorry. I get a little bold whenever I drink."

"I noticed," he hummed, thinking back to their dance all those weeks ago.

"Oh hush," she retorted when she lowered her hand again and saw him grin broadly. "Now, what happened at work? Did some girl forget to do her homework?"

He hesitated. "Umm...one of my colleagues...thinks he's being treated unfairly...uh...because the principal and the rest of the staff have been giving more attention to...hmm...one of my students even though Richard claims that his is just as...talented as Hanna."

"Hanna's your sister, right?" she asked and Toby closed his eyes, stifling a groan. Great, he'd already forgotten about that. He couldn't even keep up with all the lame-ass stories he told her. "If I was a teacher at your school and all of you were praising Hanna and forgetting about my kids, I would probably react the same way, precisely because she's your sister. I mean, he's got a point, don't you think?"

"Yeah, you're right, I guess," he sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Anyway, when am I seeing you again, Margarita Girl?"

Her lips broke into another smile. A wide, happy smile fondling her cheeks and if he'd thought that she'd looked mind-shatteringly beautiful before, it was _nothing _compared to the way she looked now. His insides did a joyful, almost painful, dance and a haze settled over his mind. "Why? Miss me?"

Truth be told, he did. They hadn't seen each other his week or the week before. Sure, they'd text and phone, they'd send the other random pictures, she more often than he did, but none of it came close to seeing each other in person. "Maybe."

"The feeling's mutual." The dark-haired woman sat up in her bed, casually putting the phone between her thighs, and pulled her hair back in a pony tail. "I have this thing at work tomorrow evening. I'm free at ten, though, so if you're up for a drink...?"

He was too distracted by the exquisite view the new position of the camera provided him to form a reply and only noticed that she was still waiting for an answer when she raised her eyebrows. "Yeah, no, that sounds great," he finally said, nodding. "Sorry, it's just—you're beautiful."

Usually, she always seemed very focused and composed, so it always amused him greatly to see her get flustered, especially over an innocent compliment like that. "Thank you. You're not hard on the eyes either. And that's _not _the wine talking," she responded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You look tired, though. Do you want to go to sleep?"

"Nah. I'm good. Doing more important stuff right now."

She laughed. "Like I said: _smooth_."

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: I know, I know, it's Sunday and I said I'd be back either Friday or Saturday _but _I accidentally pulled two all-nighters in a row and then my caffeinated brain somehow insisted that I'd already updated. Oops. LOL, college students, am I right? (Shh, I actually didn't do anything for school and wrote fic instead but don't tell anyone.) Anyway, it's here now! Woohoo!

So, this update in a nutshell: Caleb has finally entered the stage, Emily continues being mysterious, Spoby continue being flirty and awkward idiots, and Hanna continues being awesome. Next chapter marks the arrival of _one cruel sister_ (see what I did there? I'm literally the funniest person alive) and a Spoby "date". Yay, more Spencer. Like, 2,000 words of Spencer. Isn't that totally awesome? I think it is!

**On to the reviews!**

**caitycaites**: Oh, I can't really answer that now because I'll probably end up accidentally spoiling everything but I hope you'll be satisfied with the storyline I have planned for her! Like I said, I know that she's kind of in the background right now but I can promise you that she's a main character and central to the plot, although she doesn't act as a narrator (yet). Thank you!

**emmaleewhittaker**: Hahaha! Thanks for being awesome _and _a Spuffy shipper. I swear, I was just rewatching some S7 episodes the other day and it's like eleven years later and I'm still crying like a baby whenever that jerk goes "No, you don't but thanks for saying it". But dang, why didn't _I_ think of that? Sadly, Haleb is definitely a lot less angsty and a lot more fluffy than Spike/Buffy in this fic. I'm a sucker for tragedies and angst but I couldn't bear putting Hanna through the same pain Buffy went through. My homegirl deserves some happiness. Especially because it's not all sunshine and puppies for her on PLL right now. My poor baby! Oooh and thanks for the help!

**Guest #1**: Thank you, cutie!

**Guest #2**: Well, aren't you observant? Haha! Yup, he was there, we just didn't know his name yet. Thanks for the review!

**Guest Number One**: Wow, I feel so incredibly special right now, you have no idea! No, I totally get what you mean, though. I don't review much and when I do, I always do it anonymously because I'm kind of weird and don't want the author to feel obligated to read my stuff. Doesn't make any sense, I know, but hey, that's how my mind works. I love all four/five/six girls, even though I have my favorites, but I wouldn't mind if the show went back to being _The Spencer Hastings Show_ again. I have the biggest crush on Troian (and Janel, too, actually), it's awful, but that woman's _so_ wickedly talented. I'm probably one of the few Spoby shippers who enjoyed 3B just because it was one of her finest acting moments on PLL so far. And wow, that episode was so good! Like, yeah, it was a little fan-service-y, what with almost all of the main/endgame OTPs getting it on, but the pace was just right, the dialog was great, actual _stuff_ happened and -A is finally back! Yay! I gotta admit, I was counting on being disappointed because so far, I only _really_ liked 5x02 and 4B was kind of slow but it's finally becoming interesting again. As for Tyler...like, I'm really conflicted because Travis seems like a nice guy but I missed his face so much and I screamed at my television when he came on. I mean, I'm a gay woman so obviously, I don't think of him in the same way you probably do, haha, but he looks really good with the short hair and the stubble. Did you like the episode? Oh and thanks for the prompt! This is my first time listening to Taylor Swift, actually, and no, I really don't know how I managed to avoid her for so long. AND THIS IS ONE HUGE REPLY! Damn, I never meant to write a novel, it just happened. Again, thank you so much! You're a babe!

Thank you for reading. You guys seriously rock. All of you. Have a wonderful day!

See you next week!


	4. Chapter 4

**Part One:** The Cruel Sister  
><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

They talked for hours until he wasn't sure if it was too late or too early outside, and then they talked some more. She was an exceptionally smart woman. Toby had already figured as much, anyway, but it still amazed him to see that fire in her dark-browns when she spoke about something that greatly inspired her, that awoke so much passion in her that she didn't seem to be able to sit still. The excitement in her tone when she couldn't stop rattling out all that knowledge in her pretty brains, the look of concentration when she tilted her head a little and thought long and hard about a question he asked her, the look of both absolute bitterness and pure admiration when he told her that she was wrong about something and corrected her. He'd known her three months, _three_ months, and it wasn't until both their eyelids grew heavy and she spoke to him only in a whisper, her voice sleepy and rougher than usual, that he realized he was falling hard. And when they decided to finally catch some sleep, he moved to end the call and she shook her head in protest, saying that they could sleep like _this, _couldn't they, he knew he was a goner.

The sound of an unfamiliar alarm woke him out of his slumber a mere hour later and he groaned, hand automatically reaching for the nightstand to pick up his phone and turn it _off_, but naturally, his right met nothing but cold hard wood. He kept searching around for a while longer, not bothering to sit up and properly look for it, but then the alarm fell silent and he heard a soft yawn instead. During his short nap, his phone had fallen out of his grasp and was now lying next to his pillow, facing the ceiling. The woman on the other end was holding hers in her hands, though, and he was greeted by the most adorable morning face he'd ever seen, pout and barely open eyes and all. Suddenly, he was glad he wasn't actually lying right next to her because he was sure he might have kissed her right there and then.

"Morning," he said, rubbing his eyes as he picked up his phone and shot her a lazy smile. "Is there a reason why a kindergarten teacher wakes up at five?"

She gave a sigh that turned into a low moan when she stretched a little. "Don't ask me any questions before I've had my usual six and a half cups of coffee, please," she mumbled, fingers fiddling with her hair. "Why do you look like a supermodel while I look like someone ran me over with a car _twice_?"

"Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you."

Margarita Girl smirked. "Alright, I have to go take a shower now, then engage in a steamy make-out session with my coffee machine. You go back to sleep."

With another long and tired sigh, she stood up, and he was rewarded with a generous view of her long, exposed legs in white shorts when she held the camera so that it was slightly pointing at the mirror behind her. He briefly wondered whether it was an accident, a coincidence, until he saw another smirk cross over her features. So she'd done it on purpose. That woman was definitely going to be his end.

"Have fun at work. We're still meeting up later, right?"

"Yeah, we are," she answered with a smile, now walking out of her bedroom, most likely on her way to the bathroom. "Thanks for last night. I had a lot of fun."

"Feeling's mutual," he echoed her words from a few hours ago back at her and grinned when she giggled. "See you later, then."

"Later."

Although he didn't think he'd be able to go back to bed after that, not when insides were doing that kind of clumsy tango that reminded him too much of that one time back in elementary school where Tina Winters had held his hand under the table all day, he dozed off almost right after his thumb hit the red hang up button and he settled back against his pillow. He slept through his first alarm, then through his second, and somewhere between the third and the fourth, his phone died, obviously not caring much about its owner still snoring away happily instead of getting ready for work. Eventually, around nine, he shot out of the bed, rudely awoken by the sound of a loud lawnmower right under his window.

Half an hour later, Toby was hurrying up the small, white steps to the Slayer School, greeting the Baby Slayers that were standing outside at the gates hastily, and cursed lightly under his breath. He'd skipped both his shower and breakfast, merely drowning two mugs of yesterday's cold and bitter coffee with a sour expression before he'd slipped into a pair of comfortable pants and a simple shirt, taken his brown bag from the sofa and quite literally run out of the door. He should have known that something was wrong because some of the watchers who usually would've been sitting in the meeting room right now, were standing outside the huge, black doors that led to the assembly hall and making light small talk with each other. As he passed them, he heard his name, too—well, his _last name_ but they didn't pay any attention to him. Yes, Toby should have known that something was wrong, _different_, about today, when he saw a very familiar set of dark-green suitcases next to the closed door of the meeting room, but he didn't. So when he eventually entered the room and opened his mouth to get out the apology he'd carefully practiced in the car on his way to school, the sight before his eyes silenced him instantly.

A woman who he hadn't seen in years was sitting cross-legged in a much more comfortable-looking chair than the ones he'd sat in, right across from Mrs. Stevenson. There were plates on the table in-between them, too, and two teacups. Both watchers were laughing about a joke he'd apparently missed until Mrs. Stevenson, who was sitting so that he was facing him, noticed his presence and smiled softly. "Good morning. The meeting today was canceled. I sent out a mail," she told him. "But feel free to join us, anyway, Mr. Cavanaugh. This is your sister after all."

Jenna finally turned around. She looked worn out and had an ugly scar that stretched over the left side of her face. It definitely hadn't been there eight years ago. Other than that, she didn't seem to have changed much, actually. "Hello Toby," she said with a grin. "Long time no see. How have you been?"

"Good. You?"

She waved him to them in her usual commanding way and he had no choice but to comply. "Oh, I'm fine. Have a seat."

If Mrs. Stevenson noticed the tension between the two siblings, she didn't comment on it; instead, she stood up from her chair, walked over to the table in the back of the room and returned with another cup of tea and a plate with a slice of apple pie. Placing both objects in front of the male watcher, she sat back down and continued to smile at both Jenna and Toby. "I was just telling your sister how happy we are to have you and your slayer at this facility."

"Uh-huh. And now I'm curious to meet that slayer of yours, Tobes. What's she like?" Jenna asked him but he knew that she wasn't really waiting for an answer so he didn't reply. "I sent my girl to train. She's very talented, you know. Well, as one of the three protectors of Los Angeles, she has no choice but to be the best. Of course, me being the Head Watcher of the school there helps."

Mrs. Stevenson gave a delightful giggle. "Jenna, I have to ask, I've heard that you people of the West Coast are a little more different and task-oriented in your teaching methods than us. Is it true that you keep vampires in the building and let your younger girls train with them?"

"Oh no, Olivia, not just vampires. A couple of demons, too. We keep them chained up in the basement, mostly, and only feed them _just_ enough so that they don't die," Jenna answered. "Last time I was in England to meet with the Council, one male watcher from Turkey insisted that our treatment of the demons was inhumane. But personally, I think it's a lot more effective than locking all these beautiful and deadly girls away in a building like prisoners and making them read boring stories about the creatures of the night instead of letting them meet."

The dark-haired woman turned her head to her younger brother. "Where was it you said your slayer was trained?"

"She was with her first watcher until she was thirteen. Then we moved to Seattle," he replied curtly, hoping that she'd just move on to a different topic.

Jenna made an impatient clicking noise with her tongue. "There is no school in Seattle, though. So she received no _real _training besides from her first watcher...and, well, you?"

When Mrs. Stevenson's phone started ringing and she excused herself from the conversation, Toby took the opportunity to glare at the brunette next to him. "What are you doing here?" he hissed.

"Relax. Just dropping by. Checking in on what the Midwest has to offer. Visiting my baby brother who has all grown up, I see. Last time I saw you, you were still sulking because Daddy sent you off to England and wouldn't allow you to use that stupid degree you spent four useless years in college for."

The door burst open and in came Miss Fields, struggling to keep a firm hold on five really heavy-looking books, three colorful folders, her huge bag and a paper cup of coffee all at the same time. There were dark circles under her equally dark eyes which always looked so very exhausted. He'd seen an old photograph of her once, hanging in the hallway that led to the infirmary, and he'd had a hard time understanding that the young carefree woman from back then, standing next to three other girls her age and smiling happily, was in fact the same person who dragged herself through the world as though she was carrying its weight on her shoulders. "I'm sorry, I was up all night and..." she trailed off when she saw the empty room, seemingly confused for a moment, until her eyes landed on Jenna and Toby.

The female watchers' faces hardened instantly, although Jenna managed to squeeze a smug grin into hers. "Emily," she simply said.

"Jenna," Miss Fields spat, emptying her arms on the nearest table.

And that was it. They stared at each other for a whole minute after that, just observing, taking the other in, _calculating_, Toby eventually realized, and neither woman spoke up again. Until Mrs. Stevenson came back and broke the silence.

"Good morning, Emily. Meeting was canceled. If you want, you can sit down, though. We're having a nice chat," she said to Miss Fields with the same bright smile she'd given Toby. "You and Jenna are old friends, right?"

"Yes, Emily and I, we go _way_ back," Jenna replied in an overly sweet voice and nodded. "How's your slayer, Emmy? Does she still have that beautiful necklace I bought her?"

"Don't ask questions you already know the answers to, _Miss Cavanaugh_," Miss Fields shot back coolly, not moving from her spot. "How's yours? Still running around with that arrogant smile and being insane as usual?"

"Don't ask questions you already know the answers to," Jenna echoed and smirked. "It's been _years_. I got a new one a long time ago. Heard _you_ declined though. How come? Still grieving her pretty face?"

Mrs. Stevenson cleared her throat. She exchanged a quick, nervous glance with Toby who felt just as uncomfortable as she looked. "Emily, would you like some tea?"

"Thank you, Olivia, I'd love to but I think I should go. I'm in the middle of writing a paper, have to do some research on our anonymous demon and in between that, I still have our Junior Watchers to worry about. Maybe another time," Miss Fields responded politely. "I'm sure Miss Cavanaugh will understand and have time to squeeze me into her tight schedule on her next visit."

Jenna laughed. "Actually, I'm staying for a while. A week, maybe two. So we can definitely continue our little chat later. Maybe I'll come over for a visit and we can catch up. You still live in that cute little apartment downtown, right? "

The other woman forced herself to a painful-looking half-smile. "Yes. Feel free to drop by anytime you want," she said through gritted teeth, then picked up her stuff and walked out of the door.

Remembering his plans from the night before, Toby got to his feet. "I better go, too. See how Hanna is doing. See you later, Jenna. Goodbye Mrs. Stevenson," he told the two women. Mrs. Stevenson nodded distractedly as she typed back a reply to the e-mail she'd just gotten. His sister raised her eyebrows, obviously annoyed, but for once, she didn't say anything and turned back to her old friend instead, asking her questions about her kids to which the other woman grinned proudly and started showing her some photographs on her phone.

Even though he'd only left the room about half a minute after Miss Fields had, the dark-haired watcher was nowhere to be found when he stepped outside, glancing down the hallway with a perplexed expression. He could hear some music in the distance, a few joyful squeals and giggles, and then a familiar, hushed voice somewhere to his left. Shrugging his shoulders, he decided to follow it and came to a stop in front of an empty classroom; she hadn't even bothered closing the door.

"...no, see, that's it, you don't even want to consider a different explanation. I'm telling you, I know what I saw. I was there, okay?" she was saying in an angry tone. "Yes, I totally get that, but seriously, Jason, you can't hold her responsible for that forever. It's time to finally let go and focus on the actual problem we have and that is—_what? _Why would you say that? Of course I care about her! Just as much as you do! She was my friend, too. We practically grew up together. I've known her almost all my life and I'm sorry for what she had to—do you even know how ridiculous you sound right now? This has _nothing_ to do with that. Spence won't even talk to me because she knows that I fully agree with you."

Toby knocked against the door frame and Miss Fields turned around. "I gotta go," she spoke into her phone and hung up without waiting for an answer.

They looked at each other for a moment, Toby still standing in the door frame and Miss Fields still leaning against the desk. Then she sighed, rubbing her forehead, and asked, "How much did you hear?"

"Nothing that made any sense, to be honest," he answered truthfully. "I'm sorry. The door was open."

"What do you want?"

Her whole posture had gone from her usual friendliness to downright hostile. He didn't know what had brought on this sudden change, although, if he had to guess, it most likely had something to do with his older sister. Coming face to face with Jenna had obviously shaken Miss Fields and whatever it was that had transpired between them in the past, it obviously still greatly affected her. He couldn't exactly say that he blamed her for mildly taking out her frustration at Jenna on him; he was a Cavanaugh, too, after all, and with that, guilty by association. Yes, his sister was widely known for her authority, her assertiveness, her brilliance, her sharp wit and her fluidity in more than eleven demonic languages, but she was also the kind of person one didn't want to have as an enemy. He'd learned that the hard way.

"Listen, I don't care much about Jenna and I don't want her here either. This isn't about her and the vendetta you seem to have against each other," Toby told her. "I wanted to talk to you about the, um, messages Hanna's gotten."

Miss Fields' eyebrows shot up. "We're doing the best that we can, Mr. Cavanaugh, and I can assure you that this school doesn't take any threats lightly, no matter how small. If I find out anything, you'll be the very first person I contact. I'm sure you and Miss Marin are also doing plenty of research in your free time."

That was definitely meant to be a jab at both his and Hanna's lack of enthusiasm when it came to investigating but he chose to ignore it. "Is there anything you're willing to tell me about your late slayer?" The dark-haired woman didn't reply, so he pressed on, "When you saw the piece of paper Trina had with her yesterday, there was recognition in your eyes. As if you knew where it had come from."

"Well, I don't," Miss Fields said, avoiding his gaze, "and I'd rather you leave Miss DiLaurentis out of this, too. She's dead. End of story. I don't want you asking me any more questions about her. I don't want you or your sister bringing her into this. I don't want you near her family either. Let that girl rest in peace."

Toby frowned. "Miss Fields, you have to understand that Hanna's safety and well-being is my first priority. If anything happens to her...god, I don't even want to think about it. You know something you're not sharing, something that might help us find whatever it is that's trying to harm Hanna and kill it before it becomes real dangerous. The other watchers, even Mr. Stevenson, I could see it in their eyes, they don't take it seriously. None of them thinks that this is a real threat to the school or to one of their slayers," he said, dropping his voice before he went on, "Hanna was a little frightened when she got the first message but she isn't concerned about it anymore. But you and I, we both know, we both _feel_ that there's more to it, right? _Please_, Emily."

She'd listened to his little speech with a soft expression, browns slowly going from grief-ridden to understanding, and now she was still watching him, one hand running through her hair nervously, the other draped across her stomach. There was a storm in her eyes, dark clouds brewing on the horizon, a thunderstorm approaching fast, but her voice was surprisingly calm when she spoke up again. "I'm sorry, Toby. I wish I could help you but I don't know anything other than what you and Richard told me. We'll figure this out, though. Don't worry."

Once again, she gathered her stuff without a word, and he sighed in defeat, knowing that he'd lost the battle, knowing that whatever secrets she was keeping, she'd undoubtedly take them to her grave. The tall woman gave him a rueful smile when she passed him, looking so incredibly broken, and then she said, almost whispered, right into his ear, "Do yourself a favor and stay away from Jenna."

And then she was gone.

* * *

><p>Caleb had her lightly pressed against the brick wall of the school building while his mouth moved over hers hungrily. It was so ridiculous that they had to <em>sneak out <em>to get some alone time and escape the prying and judging eyes of the Baby Slayers. Like, ugh, it was not as if they were doing anything wrong; they were dating, for god's sake, had upgraded to boyfriend and girlfriend titles nearly two months ago, he wasn't _her _watcher—technically, he wasn't even _a _watcher yet—and they were practically the same age. She could always be honest with him, truthful, not like in her other relationships where she had to come up with lame excuses for sudden bruises on her skin, light scratches on her face or even broken ribs. He knew about demons, about vampires, witches, he knew about slayers and watchers, he knew about all that crap that came with the gift of being a slayer, and he _still_ wanted to be with her, wanted to be with _Hanna_, although, if she had to be completely and perfectly honest, she wasn't exactly the most pleasant person to be around, even without the slayerness.

While this sneaking about thing had at least some great upsides—it gave her a twitchy, tingly feeling all over, mostly somewhere well below her navel, though—most of the time, it sucked. Hanna had accidentally called him by his first name this morning and then one of the Senior Watchers had given her the nastiest of glares. Like, so nasty that Hanna had winced instinctively. It was _so _ridiculous. Just because she occasionally saved the world in her spare time, didn't mean that the Watchers Council had the right to decide upon her love life, whether she chose to date one of theirs or a regular human—_boring_—boy. And anyway, shouldn't they of all people know that a _satisfied_ slayer was a _happy _slayer?

The adrenaline rush and excitement of the possibility of being caught that usually filled her for the first five minutes or so, started to gradually fade away until all she felt was leaves in her hair and the rough wall against the sensitive skin of her back. It kind of hurt and definitely _not_ in the good way. Breaking off their kiss, Hanna placed her hands on his shoulders firmly to keep him away at a safe distance when he leaned back in. "This seriously sucks," she said, pouting a little. "Let's find an empty classroom or something. I'm, like, ninety-nine percent sure I got at least six spiders in my bra."

"Han, we can't. Remember our archery lesson from the other day? If someone walks in while-"

The blonde threw her hands up frustratedly. "Let them. I don't care. What's the worst they can do? Give us a long, boring talk about inappropriate work relationships? Tell us not to make out at school? They can't fire me. I'm a slayer. And even _if_ they fire me, I'll continue being a slayer. It's not like they can take away my superpowers."

Caleb sighed. "Yeah...they can't fire _you_ but they can fire me and Mr. Cavanaugh."

Oh. She hadn't thought about that. Hanna pursed her lips. "But seriously, I'm not the first slayer to date a watcher...or a watcher in training," she mumbled.

"No, you're not," he agreed, running a finger along her chin to force her eyes back to his, "and I swear, once I'm done with my training, this will all be fine and none of them will care about it anymore."

"_Ugh_. That's like a year from now," the slayer groaned.

"You act as though we're doing this in total secret," Caleb retorted, "but we go on dates, we watch movies together, I even went to that pop concert with you last week..."

Hanna stiffened. "Shh."

"...we basically do everything that other couples do. It's just that we can't do it at work and I mean, other people with regular jobs who date their colleagues at _their_ workplace-"

Cutting him off by putting her right hand over his mouth, she peeked over his shoulder in concentration, ignoring the puzzled look he shot her way. She was sure she had heard someone, featherlight footsteps stepping over dry grass, but if her boyfriend kept on babbling like that, she couldn't determine the direction from where it had come from. The Junior Watcher tried turning around slightly, only stopped by the blonde's strong pull on his arm. A beat passed, then another, and Caleb eventually gave a muffled sigh and licked her palm. On instinct, she retracted her hand and glared at him angrily.

"What is it?" he asked her in a concerned tone.

"Someone's there," she replied, parting the branches and stepping out of the bush in one smooth movement. Caleb followed her as she brushed a quick, manicured hand through her hair and adjusted her clothes. "I heard, like, footsteps? And I don't—_Oh. _Hi. Can I help you?"

The dark-haired, dark-skinned girl who had appeared from behind the tree crossed her arms and gave her the once-over, eyes widened in something that looked like surprise. "So it's you. In the flesh. The Slayer of Columbus," she stated. Hanna didn't like her tone. Or her mocking expression. Or the extremely ugly pants she was wearing. Or the way the corners of her lips turned slightly upward into a sneer as her gaze settled on Caleb for a moment. The blonde narrowed her eyes at the other girl and crossed her arms, too.

"Depends on who's asking," Hanna answered.

"Shana. Protector of Los Angeles," the brunette said with that same smug expression Hanna had already come to hate. "I've talked to Katrina earlier and I was curious to finally meet you. They told me you were good...but, to be honest, I just don't see it."

"No one has ever told me anything about you so you're probably not that good either, right?" Hanna countered.

"Mrs. Stevenson said that we two are going on patrol together tonight," Shana continued, pretending to not have heard the other girl's snappy question. "My watcher and I will be waiting here at seven. Don't be late."

And with that, she turned around, moved around the tree and started walking towards the gates without so much as a goodbye or another glance, while Hanna merely frowned and threw a baffled glimpse in the direction of her boyfriend, silently asking him who that mysterious slash annoying brunette was.

"I swear, I have never seen or even heard of her before," Caleb told Hanna with a small shrug, then called after Shana McAsshole, "Hey, Slayer, who _is_ your watcher?"

"Jenna Cavanaugh," came the short reply.

She could see in Caleb's eyes that he was kind of impressed by that answer but something inside her stirred at the name suddenly, as if a long-buried monster was trying to crawl out of its grave, as if it was scratching at its coffin, begging for sweet release. Toby didn't talk about his family often, only a very casual mention here and there, mostly about his mother, and although she knew that he had one, she'd never met his sister in all those years of their slayer/watcher relationship. Hanna could still remember stumbling across her name on one exhausting afternoon in Seattle, her name written in big, fat letters right under an immensely boring article about a special class of underwater demons living in Australia, and she'd asked him then if that pretty woman with her long hair in a lazy bun was related to him. Her watcher had given a shrug, had given a half-grimace, half-smile, but he hadn't given her a coherent answer. She didn't know what was the deal about Jenna Cavanaugh, other than that she seemed to be a world-class watcher, and she wasn't eager to find out, especially when it made her watcher _this_ uncomfortable, but whatever that strange feeling currently running through her was, awakening a weirdly familiar sense of blazing hatred and furious rage, it insisted that Jenna coming here was bad news. Maybe it was her spidey sense, her instincts, maybe it was something entirely different, she didn't know, and yet, the longer she stared after Shana, the angrier she became for some reason.

"You alright?" Caleb asked her and it wasn't until then that she realized that the buzzing noises right at her ear wasn't a bee; he had been trying to talk to her and, going by the giant frown on his face, was now confused by his normally very talkative girlfriend's lack of response.

"Honestly? I don't know," Hanna answered, tapping a finger to her chin. That seemed to confuse Caleb even more because he raised an eyebrow. "_I don't know._ I just feel really, really weird and creeped out right now. Let's go back inside. Please."

* * *

><p>There was a short period of time where had genuinely believed that he could eventually work things out with his sister. He'd been fourteen, gone from absolute hatred, disgust and anger, first directed at her, later only directed at himself, to a state of peace. To understanding. His sister had been an only child for roughly seven years until he'd come along, after all, and envy between siblings wasn't an uncommon thing, was it, especially with a child as spoiled as Jenna had been and still was, thirty-six and daddy's little girl just the same. He had been fourteen, tending to internal, gushing wounds left years ago, inflicted by a tongue and words as sharp and deep-cutting as knives, and she'd come home from England for Christmas, their first <em>real<em> Christmas since their mother's death. He'd put on his best behavior during dinner, had even tried to overcome the crushing anguish that set his skin on fire whenever his eyes landed on the empty chair at the end of the table. He'd tried _so_ hard, making light conversation with his family and eating although the soup tasted like ashes, although he hadn't felt like eating anything then, hadn't felt like eating in months, in over a year, even.

Sure, Jenna had made some of her usual comments, a lot of _funny_ jokes about him being a failure to which their father had laughed into his wine glass and looked at him in a "Well, and why aren't you laughing? It's a joke, boy" kind of way. And still, he hadn't been able to keep the one good part of him that he'd gotten from his mother at bay, the one part of him that was still a naïve fool, an optimist, full of hope and desperately clinging to the belief in a better future. So, later, when their father had fallen asleep in his armchair, and Jenna had sneaked out into the backyard to smoke a cigarette, he had joined his older sister, standing by the French doors and watching her as she exhaled misty bluish-gray smoke heavenwards.

He couldn't remember how their conversation had gone. Maybe he'd started it with asking an innocent question about her life in England, maybe she'd eventually spoken up after a few minutes of uneasy silence and told him that if he didn't have anything to say, he could leave because she wanted to be alone. He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember when their both harmless and hurtful banter turned into yet another fight where she had the upper-hand, as per usual; couldn't remember if it all turned out to be about Mom again, if she'd admitted back then that she'd always known that their mother preferred him over her. He couldn't remember if he'd said "I don't know what I did to you" or "Why are you constantly treating me like shit?" or something equally childish and immensely stupid like that. But he did remember what she'd told him before going back inside because when he'd seen her earlier today, casually sitting there and staring into his eyes with a smug expression, he'd heard it in his head all over again.

"Don't be ridiculous, Toby. I'm not doing this because I hate you. I'm doing it because I can."

Something about Jenna's sudden reappearance in his life made him emotionally regress to the same person he had been eight years ago, the last time he'd seen her face-to-face. It was awful. Everything he'd worked for, everything he'd healed inside him in the time he'd been away from his family, seemed to vanish into thin air and it felt as though all he could do about it was to sit back and watch. Downing his second glass of whatever he'd ordered a couple of minutes ago, Toby sighed. Hell, he was almost thirty years old, he shouldn't still be dealing with the emotional aftermath of a few nasty years under Queen Jenna's reign. There were people who'd had it worse than him, a lot worse; Hanna, for example, had been taken away from her family at the tender age of five and, when she'd tried to get in contact with them years later, found out that her mother had moved on and her father had remarried, and yet, the only thing his slayer complained about was not finding any _cute_ and _affordable_ boots in her size.

By the time Margarita Girl showed up, at precisely nine fifty-eight, he was finishing his sixth glass and admittedly more buzzed than he'd initially wanted to be for this...was it a date? Toby risked a peek at her as she waved at the bartender; she was wearing a dress again, not unlike the ones he had already seen her in before. Dark-colored, tight-fitting, barely reaching mid-thigh, legs going on forever, and high heels, simple ear rings and the same cross necklace she'd worn around her slender neck on the night of the restroom incident. Her chocolate hair fell in soft curls around her face and they bounced lightly when she sat down on the bar stool, not taking off her jacket just yet, and shot him one of her addicting, dazzling smiles. Make up, too. Not too much. Except for the dark-red lipstick on that mouth of hers that made him slightly lightheaded. Maybe it _was_ a date. God, he wanted to kiss her. Badly.

His gaze dropped when she sipped at her drink happily and her left hand came to a rest on her thigh after she put her purse on the empty stool beside her. Usually, she wore a bracelet on that wrist but tonight she didn't, and he could see two faint scars on her creamy white skin, close to her radial artery. They simultaneously looked both fresh _and_ old, however that was even possible, and Toby frowned. Just then, the brunette caught him staring and turned her hand over, hiding the marks from his view. "How was your day?" she asked him, leaning her chin into her other palm.

He shrugged one shoulder. "Long."

The woman regarded him worriedly for a long beat, eyes boring into his and whatever insecurities and pain of reopened wounds he'd been feeling because of sister, they immediately started fading away, drowning in depths of brown.

"Well, wanna hear about my day? One of my kids puked _all over me_ and I have this irrational fear of vomit, which, you know, is pretty awesome for someone with my job, so we both ended up crying hysterically," she started, raising one playful eyebrow as if she was hoping to at least get a grin out of him, "then one of the other teachers had to come in and calm both Andy and _me_ down. Andy, as it turned out, felt immensely better after getting rid of his lunch, and immediately asked for another turkey sandwich. I, however, as the Official and Uncontested Ruler of OCD, locked myself in the bathroom after changing my clothes _twice_. Eventually, I came back, though, and Andy drew me a picture of both of us crying, and that's pretty much the only interesting thing that happened at work."

Giving her a small, unsure smile, Toby sipped at his drink. "Wanna hear about my night, too?" she continued in a light tone, playing with a strand of her hair. He heard a soft thud coming from somewhere below and glanced down. She'd kicked off one of her shoes and one naked foot bumped against his shoe teasingly. "I killed three demons with my bare hands."

That managed to make him grin, mostly because she didn't know that the very thing she was joking about did in fact exist. "With your _bare _hands?" he questioned. "Oh, I see, you're like Popeye! _That's_ why you're always drinking a Margarita! It's your spinach, right?"

"_Excuse you_, I have superpowers," she quipped with an amused twinkle in her eyes, "I don't need magic potions or spinach to make me stronger. That's for boys."

Shaking his head, Toby chuckled. "Not Popeye then. More like Xena, huh?"

Margarita Girl leaned in a little more, foot still absentmindedly stroking at his ankle, and he had to firmly tell the stupid, intoxicated part of his brain to resist the strong urge to just press her against the bar and kiss her until both of them were struggling for breath. "Kind of," she replied, fishing out the maraschino cherry out of his drink and plopping it into her mouth. "So, Pretty Eyes, now that I've told you all about my day, are you going to tell me what's on your mind?"

"It's nothing," he said, once more shrugging one shoulder.

"The way you were glaring at your drink just now didn't look like nothing to me."

Again, there was genuine worry plastered all over her beautiful face and for a moment, he was almost sure that she was directly staring into his soul, eyes roaming over his features hungrily. "It's just...my sister's in town," he sighed.

"And you're not happy about it, I take?"

"No, I'm not, not really," he responded, avoiding her browns and staring at his drink instead, swirling it around. "We have a very complicated relationship."

Humming lightly, she, too, dropped her gaze. "Sounds familiar."

"It does? You got some troubled family history, too?"

A laugh escaped her mouth and he realized that he'd missed hearing it. "Something like that. I have an older brother and we fight a lot about...stuff," she answered, looking at her wrist, the one with the scars, and then back at him with a half-smile. "If your sister being here upsets you this much, just pretend like you totally forgot about it and don't answer any of her calls until she's back home. And try to avoid places she might visit."

Toby shook his head. "I wish it was that simple. She's friends with most of my, uh, colleagues at school so I'll probably see her every day until she decides to go back to California. Besides, Jenna is-"

Her foot dropped from his leg instantly and with that, her jaw dropped, too, one hand reaching for her necklace. "Jenna?" she repeated in a perplexed tone.

Furrowing his brows at her, he said, "Yeah...that's her name. What's wrong?"

And as sudden as her strange behavior had surfaced, it disappeared again. "No, nothing. Your family members have interesting names is all. I mean, you have a sister named _Hanna_ and a sister named _Jenna_. Got an Anna, too? A Lana, maybe?"

Right. This was his chance to finally come clean. Well, at least about one lie he'd told her. "Yeah, listen, about that...Hanna's not my sister...and she's not my girlfriend, either, if that's what you're thinking," he added upon seeing her pursed lips. "I mean, she definitely is like a sister to me. An annoying, little sister who I love very much but we're not related. I wish we were, though. Unfortunately, I share a last name and a blood link with the soul-sucking demon formerly known as Jenna."

That made her laugh again. "_Soul-sucking demon?_ So you're saying that you're related to a Dementor? Maybe you should work on your magic skills, then. I heard a Patronus is especially hard to conjure."

"Wow. Smart. Science geek. Superpowers. Mind-bogglingly gorgeous, too. And a Harry Potter nerd. Is there anything you _can't_ do?"

"Wellllll," she began with a smirk and he felt her bare foot at his ankle once again, slowly going up, slowly going down, "not much, actually. I'm gifted in _many_ different ways."

The man laughed nervously and cleared his throat. The seductive drop of her croaky voice had refreshed his drunken stupor; he didn't know if her innocent statement was meant to sound as dirty as it did but that didn't stop the same part of his brain that had begged him to touch her a while ago from awaking with a triumphant roar anyhow.

"Really?"

"Really," the brunette echoed, nodding eagerly. "There's just...this _one thing_ I can't seem do to, though, no matter how much I try, and it's making me kind of frustrated..."

Ignoring the sudden rush of _very_ inappropriate thoughts dancing through his head, he cleared his throat again. "What's that?"

She sighed dramatically, running a hand through her hair. "For some reason, I can't get you to kiss me."

Blue eyes shot up and locked gazes with teasing brown ones and Toby couldn't stop the grin from erupting across his mouth as one sneaky hand came to a rest right on top of his, nails scratching the back of his hand very lightly. And that was it, that was all it took to let go of the anxiety eating away at his stomach, to let go of the immensely heavy baggage named Jenna...well, at least for tonight. Leaning in by an inch or two, he briefly searched her face for any signs of discomfort or hesitation, and when he saw none, just one adorable smile and half-closed eyelids, he brushed his lips against hers.

* * *

><p>"...and he literally didn't say anything when I confronted him about it! And Mrs. Stevenson and Jenna were all...<em>Miss Marin, please, it's just one night, you have patrolled with other slayers before<em> and Toby just went..._yeah, she did, I guess_...like, what am I? His personal property? He can't just betray me like that. He's like that one sibling from Narnia...no, wait, I changed my mind. He's Judas. He's literally Judas. I hate him. And then, oh god, patrol was even worse! There is this demon, right, and Shana goes all arghhh and grrrr and she totally has the wrong technique, like, it was so huge, and she is trying to kill it with a knife, and I say that she has to use a sword and that she has to tackle it from behind or something and that bitch _punches _me for correcting her and naturally, I punch her right back because I'm awesome, _and_ manage to slay that thing in less than five minutes. It was so cool, though. I sliced it in two with an ax and the demon was bleeding all over the place and god, that awful smell-"

"Han, I'm trying to seduce you right now and your talk about demon entrails is _kind of_ killing the mood," Caleb mumbled against her skin without lifting his head from her neck.

"No, I'm sorry, it's working, it's working," she assured him quickly, fingers combing through his hair and then tilting his chin up for a kiss. Tongues met instantly, dancing against each other, while he gave a contented sigh and shifted a little on his side so that he was on top of her, still mindful not to put his full weight on her body even though he perfectly knew that she could take it. Slayer and all. _Duh_. They continued making out leisurely for a few more minutes until she released his mouth soundly and blinked up at him with furrowed brows. "Anyway, so there's all that blood and smell, right, and Jenna gives Shana this really, _really _pissed off glare and I'm just standing there-"

Groaning, Caleb rolled off of her, shaking his head when Hanna made a disappointed noise and tried to pull him back. "No, it's okay, you obviously need to talk about that. Go on, please."

Shrugging, the blonde decided that was all the approval she needed, all the approval she had been waiting for and continued without a beat. "So I'm just standing there, minding my own business, and Jenna snaps at me for no damn reason at all, like, she goes..._uh, I'm sorry, Miss Marin, but I didn't allow you to kill it, did I_? And I'm like, what the hell, bitch? Only, of course, I didn't say that. I actually said..._well, I'm a slayer. I slay. That's my job. I did my job._ And at this point, I can actually see Jenna get even angrier, like, scary angry, and she says that she's a watcher. And I go..._you're a watcher? Watch this!_ And throw my stake and dust this vampire that was behind her-"

"That didn't really happen, though, did it?" Caleb cut in with a broad smile and his girlfriend narrowed her eyes at him. "Seriously, Hanna, your aim sucks. You know it. I know it. There's no need to lie."

Hanna sighed, nudging him with her toe. "It's a story. I have to make it interesting. Because if I said that I _missed_ and Shana killed it instead, it would be totally lame," she said in an impatient tone and scooted forward when he placed her feet in his lap and started rubbing them gently. "Now, where was I? Right. So after _I _dust that vamp, Jenna's now fuming with rage, obviously she doesn't think that my joke was funny, and tells us that patrol's over, we're going home now. And then she starts ranting about Toby and his incompetence. And I'm like, oh no, only _I _am allowed to talk about C like that. So we start fighting, and she thinks she's intimidating with me with all those big words I don't even understand, and Shana's sort of behind us, not speaking up, and I'm all kinds of pissed off, you know, because first that West Coast Slayer McAsshole takes the kill away from me, then Jenna actually bitches at me for _killing a demon_ and proceeds to talk shit about _my _Toby, so I tell her that she's a huge douchebag and-"

She was interrupted again, this time by a loud, barking laugh. "You told Miss Cavanaugh that she's a _douchebag_?" her boyfriend asked bemusedly and started snickering once more when she merely nodded. "Oh my god, you are awesome."

With a giggle, Hanna gave another casual shrug. "Like, it's not my fault that she's a total douchebag, though, you know? Hmm, _female_ douchebag...douchbaguette...? Whatever. Anyway, so I tell her that, right, and she actually stomps off like a brat and Shana just runs after her without a word. And, yeah, I think that's pretty much...oh, wait hang on...no, sorry, that's it. That was my night. Feel free to carry on with the seducing."

Not giving him any time to react, she pushed herself up and then pulled him down to her willing mouth, moving back until her head met the soft cushions of the couch and laughing against his lips when she heard him gasp, momentarily taken by surprise. They had not gone _there_ yet, not completely, anyway, so there was still the usual awkward bumping of lower-halves and hands fumbling at clothes nervously and all of it was really _nice_. It was even nicer when his fingers slipped beneath her shirt and traveled familiar roads up her ribcage, stroking at her bra, and hers clawed at his pants, trying to find a way to get him out of them without losing skin contact. In moments like these, she felt like a normal, hormonal teenager, felt like a normal eighteen-year-old girl enjoying time with her boyfriend. She felt...she felt..._hungry_. Wait.

Breaking off their kiss again, Hanna ran her tongue along her lower lip and glanced up at Caleb as he braced himself up on his elbows. "When's the pizza guy coming?" she asked, smoothing his hair back.

Looking confused, he raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Pizza guy. I can't concentrate right now. Slaying always makes me so hungry."

"I thought it was horny?"

She rolled her eyes. "It makes me hungry _and_ horny. It's a slayer thing, okay, we all have that. Just ask the others at-"

The sound of the doorbell cut her off and Hanna jumped off the couch happily. "Be right back!" she exclaimed, hastily trying to make herself not look as if she'd been busy exchanging body fluids with her boyfriend for the past twenty minutes, and ran down the hall. But it was not the pizza guy who greeted her when she finally arrived at the door.

No, definitely not the pizza guy. A small, white envelope lying on the mat. _To my favorite Slayer_, it read.

"Oh _hell_ no."

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Ugh, Haleb, my precious babies, to quote the Queen: Y'all need to seriously chill out in the make-out department. Like, I can't even put you in a room to do a scene without you immediately starting to dry-hump each other. It's very distracting. And cute. But mostly distracting 'cuz I need to move the plot forward a little, y'know? So stop being so ridiculously in love. Thank you very much.

Anyway...boy, that was a long chapter. I hope none of you fell asleep. And, well, I got nothing else to say, really, except _please don't kill me_, I promise next chapter's gonna pick up right where I cut Spoby off without warning. Expect more Jenna, more Emily, and I'm not really sure if Jason's in the next one and can't check since I'm on a different computer right now but anyway, expect more Jason too. Just because.

One last thing, though: I'm a little behind on my writing schedule. Was supposed to finish Chapter 14 yesterday but unfortunately, I'm still stuck in the middle of Chapter 10 because apparently, my brain thinks it's more interesting to write, like, a gazillion one-shots and map out five different multi-chaptered fics instead of focusing on what I actually need to do. You'll be getting one update a week instead of two for a while until I finally manage to catch up. OK? OK.

**Reviews, reviews, reviews!**

**LeahCavanaugh**: Thank you! Glad you liked it! Yeah, _The Vampire Diaries _is a pretty sweet supernatural show, too, but I guess I'll always be more of a Buffy kind of gal.

**emmaleewhittaker**: Thanks!

**Guest #1**: Ah, I think Richard needs to lay off the cigs and booze and admit to himself that the only reason he's so mad at Tobes and Hanna is because they're far more attractive than he is, haha. Thank you!

**Guest Number One:** Yay! I hope this chapter didn't disappoint with the Spoby and the Haleb. I almost feel bad for making Haleb so damn fluffy—like, really, when I was still planning this whole thing, I briefly toyed with the idea of giving them a super angsty storyline because I _love_ angst; the angstier, the better, in fact—but then I remember what they're going through on the actual show and I'm like, whatevs, at least they're happy in my little universe. (Much love for the _Glee_ reference, by the way!) Ummm, favorite Liars...that's a tough one. I think, like, character-wise, it'd be _Alison_,_ Mona_,_ Spencer_,_ Hanna_,_ Emily_,_ Aria_, because Mona and Ali are both so incredibly juicy, but if I treated them like real people, it'd be _Spencer_, _EmilyandHanna_ (shh, that's not cheating), _Aria_, almost everyone else in Rosewood, _Alison_, literally everyone else I hate on this show, _Mona_. I'm kinda indifferent to Paige and Paily and I used to be a huge Emison shipper, just like I _used_ to have a lot of hope for Ali and her redemption but she's been annoying me a lot lately. So I'm not entirely sure if I want them together for real. I'm very protective of the girls, especially Spencer, Emily, and Hanna (and none for Gretchen Weiners, bye), and I really don't want to see Emily get hurt. Oh, I think he already cut his hair, though, didn't he? Like, I read that he grew it out for_ Locks of Love_ or something, which I think is really sweet. Then again, I don't think he looked bad with that hair and I didn't mind his S1 hair much, either, haha. You enjoyed semi-naked Ian, I enjoyed Lucy's back. It's literally a win-win for everyone! Honestly, I initially didn't think I'd like it because it's definitely not my usual genre but she has a nice voice. I finished the prompt on Monday and it got ridiculously long but I'm not entirely satisfied with it yet so it's sitting in my drafts folder...somewhere. Ugh, I _know_. It's my fault, though, because I wrote the thing and there isn't much going on (yet) to talk about, I guess. Thank so you much for being a cutie.

**Guest #2**: Hey, thank you for giving it a try, anyway! I always think I'm cool because I put all these little clues and hints into each chapter but then I realize that I'm probably the only one who notices them because I'm the only one who knows where I'm going with this, haha. But seriously, you _have_ to watch BtVS. It's great.

**Guest #3**: You asked and you shall receive! Thanks!

Thank you for reading! Love y'all!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**: Remember when I said that this fic was rated for steaminess? Here it is, our very first **M-ish rated scene**. It's nothing too explicit, I promise, and _kind of _relevant to the plot...well, not the steaminess itself, just what happens in-between and after, but if you don't feel like reading, you should probably skip straight to Hanna's part of the chapter. See you in the Author's Notes at the end!

* * *

><p><strong>Part One<strong>: The Cruel Sister  
><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

"Come in. Make yourself at home."

Margarita Girl sauntered into the apartment as Toby shrugged off his jacket and threw it over the usual chair in the middle of the kitchen area. She swayed her hips a little as she went and glanced at him over her shoulder when she finally took off her jacket, too, allowing him a generous view of her bare back, making his eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. He took in a deep breath and was sure that she heard it because she gave yet another addicting giggle, causing him to drop his gaze sheepishly. Truth to be told, he didn't know where this was heading; he hadn't dared to go any further after that one kiss back at the bar and the taste of her sweet lips was still fresh on his tongue, her flowery perfume all over his shirt, and the gentle scratches she had left on the back of his hand were furiously itching with the need to touch her _again_. She'd watched him after they'd broken apart, watched him intently, eyes dark and with a little smile, and then she'd asked him if he wanted to leave. As in, if we wanted to leave _together_.

He wasn't the type to pick up a girl from a bar, no matter how familiar they had become with each other over the past few months, and he certainly wasn't the type to have a short fling, an one-night-stand, with someone he was both physically—and as crazy as it sounded—emotionally immensely drawn to, only to go back to pretending that none of it had happened the next morning. Yes, he was a fool, and a big one at that, hoping for something, something more, something _meaningful_ with a woman whose face haunted his daydreams, whose expressions and voice he already was so familiar with...whose _name_ he didn't even know. Sure, they were both intoxicated, she a little more than he was, he remarked, as she kicked of her high heels gracefully, but he also knew that he wasn't in the emotional shape to sleep with her, not with Jenna's sudden and definitely unwelcome arrival still hanging over his head like a dark cloud, ready to rain down on him again any second; and, as he watched a short wave of confusion and mild despair cross over the brunette's features, disappearing after a very short second, he got the feeling that neither was she, not really. God, where was this headed? _What were they doing?_

Toby cleared his throat. "Do you want something to drink?"

The dark-haired woman spun around in a lazy half-circle and shrugged one shoulder. "What you got?"

After one disastrous evening in Seattle where Hanna had thought it would be _fun_ to rummage through his whiskey cabinet, Toby had banned any sort of alcoholic beverage from their apartment, much to the blonde's dismay, so he cleared his throat once more and responded, "Umm...juice...water...soda..."

"Water's fine, please," she replied and smiled, walking through the smallish living area until she came to a halt right in front of the wooden bookshelf next to the TV. "Hmmm..._Demonology Through the Centuries_...wait, what's that, _The History of the Slayer Line_...? And—oh, cool—_East European Vengeance Demons. _Interesting book choices."

Toby gave a nervous chuckle, moved around the counter and hurried to stand in front of her, blocking her view. "These aren't mine," he said hastily and winced at his lame excuse. Maybe he was more buzzed than he had initially thought. "They are my friend's."

She smirked up at him, looking amused, and tilted her head. "Is that so?" she asked. "That changes everything, then. And here I thought I had you all figured out."

"Figured out? There's nothing to figure out about me," he babbled, very aware of her right hand that was now on his chest, running up and down sensually.

"Mmmhmm," she made, a giggle escaping her red lips, "I mean, up until now I thought you were a watcher at that Slayer School...sorry, I mean, at that private school...but if those are your _friend's_ books, I guess I was wrong, after all."

She came even closer, standing on her tip toes to reach him, and he could feel her breath against his chin, lips barely grazing his jaw, hand palming the fabric of his shirt. His mind muddled but he still managed to ask, "How do you know about watchers?"

"Hmmm...let's just say I know a watcher when I see one."

"Do you know a slayer or something?"

The brunette laughed again and his stomach contracted at the sound. "Or something," she breathed and before he could form a reply, before he could pick out one of the hundreds of thoughts that were still racing through his head, she threw herself right at him, pulling his face down to hers by his hair.

And as aggressive as her attack had been, as firmly as she was now grabbing onto him, the kiss was soft, gentle, sending sparks of electricity through his veins and his whole being. Again, neither of them went any further for a while, just enjoying the feeling of mouths innocently brushing against each other, until he put his arms around her shoulders to pull her slightly upward and flush against his body, and he felt rather than heard her surprised sigh; with the bare, creamy skin of her back beneath his fingertips, he felt daring for a moment and slipped a tongue into her hot mouth. Her fingers tightened around the fabric in her hands almost immediately and she let out a small whimper. Desperate to hear that sound again, he released her lips and dragged his mouth to her chin, then to her neck and collarbone and when she actually moaned loudly, he was sure his legs would give out any second.

Something inside his mind told him to slow down a little, to calm down, to take a breath, because hadn't he initially wanted to avoid this situation, but that objection, too, vanished when she pushed him gently and he landed on the sofa behind them with a thump, glancing up at her from under half-closed eyelids as she straddled him smoothly, placing an endlessly long leg on either side of him.

She attacked his mouth again, cupping his face, the gentleness of earlier already forgotten, and he responded with equal vigor.

"You can touch me, you know," she whispered into his ear huskily when they struggled for breath after yet another searing kiss. She took the hand that was hovering above her knee into her own, placing it on her skin before she slowly, very slowly, guided it upwards, underneath her dress. "You can take this off of me, too, if you want."

And he wanted to, _god_, he wanted to; she filled something in him he hadn't even registered that it was empty, her skin was soft under his fingers, setting him ablaze, burning him from the inside out, and the way she was now circling her hips slightly, grinding into him in slow motion, was driving him crazy, but there was still that _one_ lingering question. He stopped her when she moved to capture his mouth with hers again, and was sure the hunger and yearning in her brown eyes were mirroring his.

"What?" she asked, sitting back on his knees. "Something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong," he assured her. "It's just—I _still_ don't know your name."

She smiled and leaned forward again, gently biting into his earlobe, and whispered, "I told you. You have to ask _nicely_."

Going back to her rubbing motion from before, she continued to press open-mouthed kisses against his neck and jawline. "I'm waiting," she whispered. "Come on, Pretty Eyes, shouldn't be too..." she grinded into him more forcefully and he could barely suppress his groan, "..._hard_ to ask one little question, right?"

Her breath was coming in short, quick pants, making it impossible to concentrate on anything but the feeling, the taste, the sound of her; he thrust up against her instinctively as she picked up her pace and a goofy, self-satisfied grin grew on his face when she gave another helpless mewl. "Okay, I hate losing but I don't care. Whatever. You win," she rambled, taking his face into her hands again. "It's Spencer. Can we continue now? _Please?_ This stupid dress and all this tension of the last months is making me nuts."

"Spencer," he repeated slowly. "I like it. It's a pretty name."

Brown eyes clouded over with lust and he noted that goosebumps were erupting on her skin. "Say it again," she commanded.

Toby chuckled and raised an eyebrow at her. "Spencer?" he said questioningly and felt her thighs tighten against his hips. "Wow. Who would have thought? I found your weak spot. It's your name. You really are Rumpelstiltskin. No wonder you made such a big deal about it."

"Oh, shut up," she retorted playfully. "It's not my weak spot. It's my weak spot with you, I guess. When you say it, it sounds like the most precious thing in the world."

_Because you are, _one—very stupid and very, very drunk—part of him wanted to reply but he shook that thought out of his head, grabbed her hips and gave them a slight push. In a second, she was back in his arms, meeting his lips halfway and opening her mouth with a thankful moan. One of her hands slipped under his shirt, sharp nails running along his abdomen and digging in, and he mimicked her movements by pushing her dress up, up, up, until her lower-half was completely exposed to him. He tore his mouth off of hers to inspect the newly visible skin of her stomach, but she merely tilted his chin back up to meet his eyes. "You can continue looking later. Take it off," she ordered, "_now_."

"You're bossy," he stated lightheartedly.

"Mmmhmm..."

"And impatient..."

Again, the brunette nodded, giggling. "Yup. Sounds like me."

He dropped a lingering kiss against her ear. "Bossy." Against her neck. "Impatient." Against her shoulder. "_Spencer_."

Her hands flew to his head automatically, holding him in place with a soft gasp and he couldn't stop the smirk that stretched his lips yet again. His own hands stroked at her waist and then came to a rest on her hips, guiding her movements and slowing her down just a little, as she started to tremble and he continued to whisper her name against her collarbone, again and again and again and again...

"That's a boys name," a female voice suddenly said and Toby felt Spencer freeze, shoving at his shoulders and struggling to get off of his lap as fast as possible. She had a murderous glimmer in her eyes when she spun around to face him and he flinched reflexively.

"You _do_ have a girlfriend," she hissed angrily, pulling down her dress. "You _lied_ to me-"

"No, I do not! She's _not_ my girlfriend-"

Hanna stepped into the living area, one hand in her hips, the other one pressed to her chest. "Toby!" she exclaimed in a completely fake shocked voice. "What are you doing with that skank on _our_ sofa? I thought what we had was special!"

But when Spencer saw the blonde, something in her face changed, an unreadable expression settling over her features; Toby furrowed his brows and wanted to ask her what was wrong, but she was already picking up her shoes and putting them back on without another word. The blonde teen didn't move from her spot and kept eying both adults suspiciously, crossed arms and all. Spencer merely gave her another glance before she turned back to the watcher. "I should probably go home," she said in a tired, almost defeated, voice, and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight, um, _Toby_. Call me."

"Night, Spencer," he echoed and watched her leave, moving past Hanna with a hard look to which the blonde only gave a scowl.

After the door had closed behind her figure, Toby blinked at his slayer. "Thank you, Hanna. Ever heard of knocking?"

"Why do I have to knock? I live here, too, remember?" she replied grumpily. "And besides, you're way too old to do stuff like _that_. That's gross."

"Well, _you _told me to go out and meet women," Toby retorted.

"Yeah, I did, but I didn't mean _her_. I don't like her."

"You don't even know her."

Hanna waved her hand. "There's something about her that bothers me, okay? You've met her tonight and she's already dry humping you," she said with an implied 'ugh' in her tone.

"We didn't meet tonight. We met a while ago. Right after we came to Columbus."

"Aha!" Hanna pointed her finger at him accusingly. "This has been going on for three months? That's who you've been texting and phoning all freaking day? What else have you been hiding from me?"

"You know, I'll gladly talk about this all night, since clearly this is you being genuinely interested in my personal life and _not_ just you freaking out because you're jealous someone's gonna come in and take away your spot as Toby Cavanaugh's favorite girl," Toby responded with a shrug. "By the way, are those hickeys on your neck? Since we're being all sharing and invasive and stuff."

The blonde blushed, one hand coming up to cover up the evidence. "Oh, your personal life is none of my business, boss. Date whoever you want. Have sex with mysterious women. _No me importa_."

Toby chuckled. "So, what's up? What's the rush? I thought you were staying at one of your long-lost uncles who I can't meet because he's anti-social, blind, deaf and old?"

"If you have a boner or something, I'd rather not-"

"_Hanna_."

"Fine, I'll drop it. Geez, if looks could kill," the blonde murmured, throwing herself on the armchair dramatically, purposely avoiding the much more comfortable sofa. She patted her armrest, once, twice, the third time with an annoyed sigh until he finally walked over to her and sat down, too. The second he did, though, she shoved a photograph in his face. "What does this look like to you?" she then questioned.

Frowning, Toby took the photograph from her and looked at it for a moment. "Ummm...it's a brown-haired woman...she looks like she's in her early 20s but I'm not so sure. There's a blonde girl in her lap and they're hugging each other..."

She snatched the picture out of his hands and shot him an evil glare. For the second time that night, Toby flinched on reflex. Then she turned the photograph around and showed him the all-too familiar, elegant writing on the backside. _Slayer – tell him I still remember her screams._ "I know this woman," she said. "I _know_ I know this woman from somewhere."

Toby regarded the picture for another few moments and decided that, although the little girl bore a striking resemblance to someone he felt like he knew, he definitely hadn't met the brunette. "Sorry, I can't help you. Do you know where you might have seen her before? The message on the back makes it sound as though one of them is dead. Maybe you've seen her face on the news?"

Shaking her head, Hanna didn't answer and stared at the woman's face with a gloomy expression. He didn't know where she was going with this and might have told her just that but then he saw the twinkle in her gaze, the way her lower lip trembled slightly, looking so much like that girl from five years ago that he almost wrapped her arms around her frame to console her. "Are you crying?" he asked softly.

She reacted quickly; posture stiffening, a little remorseful smile appearing on her face, the sadness of her eyes slowly disappearing. "I don't know but something...I mean, I don't even know what happened to these people and I only have this vague sense of familiarity with that brunette...and actually, come to think about it, the little girl, too, but with her, it's more, like, a gut feeling, while I'm definitely sure that I've seen this woman at least once before," she replied, shrugging. "I really don't know why but something about this makes me incredibly sad."

"And you're absolutely sure that you don't know them?" Toby inquired, brows furrowed, pulling up his shoulders when the blonde girl sighed exasperatedly, obviously annoyed at having to explain herself yet again. "Because whoever sent you this photograph clearly thought that it would frighten you."

Then something happened. Something big. Something he had already given up hoping for. Something he hadn't thought it'd ever happen. His slayer lowered the photograph, met her mentor's look and suddenly, her blue eyes sparkled with joy, with pride, with an epiphany, a theory, an actual _idea_.

"Ya know what I think?" Dramatic pause. "I think whoever is sending me these has the wrong girl..." Another dramatic pause. Toby merely blinked at her amusedly. "...and since Miss Fields seems to know more than she is willing to share with us, you know, because of the way you said she reacted to Trina's letter, I'm pretty sure that _her_ slayer is Mr. or Mrs. Anonymous Vampire's actual target. Jokes on you, though, buddy, she's gone and she isn't going to come back."

The watcher had spent hours trying to solve this seemingly never-ending riddle but _that _thought had certainly never crossed his mind before and after a few minutes of mulling it over, which, in his current state of intoxication, was a more difficult task than usual, he realized that she had a point. "You know what? You may be right," he eventually said and grinned when she beamed up at him. "But why would Miss Fields keep something like this from us? Or from the school?"

To that, Hanna didn't have an answer and only shrugged her shoulders a little.

Another sigh escaped her lips as she gave the dark-haired woman one last fleeting glance and then ripped the photograph to pieces. "Seriously, I changed my mind, _fuck_ that last slayer. I don't know what she did to make someone or _something_ hate her this much but I'm already tired of dealing with her enemies. Why can't I have my own?"

* * *

><p>"Thank you so much for helping me with my research!"<p>

"Shhh!" came from the librarian.

"_Shhh _yourself, you old hag," the blonde muttered under her breath as she sat down next to her boyfriend who was balancing his laptop on his knees. After almost thirty minutes of unsuccessfully searching for an empty classroom, they were now in the watchers library, hiding between two heavy bookshelves in the demonology section. Handing Caleb the coffee she'd smuggled past the slender, strict-looking woman at the front desk who was once again playing solitaire on her computer, the slayer sipped at her own paper cup and leaned her head against his shoulder.

"You are a terrible liar," Caleb grinned as he started typing. "There's no one here besides Miss Hall and I can assure you that she doesn't care about us as long as she's got her computer. You don't have to convince her that we are doing research."

"Better safe than sorry," Hanna replied in a low voice. "I've never done anything _illegal_ before."

Turning his head, he raised his eyebrows at her with a light chuckle. "Han, you bought us fake IDs. I'm pretty sure that's illegal."

She blew an unconvinced raspberry and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but that's _so_ whatever because we could only, like, go to jail for that, you know? But now we are hacking into the school's _deltabase_ or something. They could totally fire you and Miss Fields is so gonna kick your ass if she finds out."

When he looked at her like that, like she was the most adorable and important person in the whole universe, it was really hard to resist the urge to just throw herself into his arms and resume their make-out session from earlier that day that had been cut short after Jenna rudely interrupted them by announcing that Hanna had to come with her, _now, _because apparently, she wanted to measure Hanna's stamina. The blonde would've gladly told her that she had plenty of stamina, _just ask Caleb_, _thank you very much_, but Jenna's icy green eyes made her shut up right away. That bitch was seriously unbelievable. She had kept quiet about their little fight from the night before but Hanna had the feeling that making the blonde girl run for three hours straight was her way of showing that she still held the upper hand, whether the slayer liked it or not.

Sighing loudly, Hanna pressed a quick peck to her boyfriend's cheek, then settled back against his shoulder comfortably, playing with the cup in her hands. "Can you read every watcher's journal there is?" she asked. "Like, if I wanted to find out something about a girl who lived in the Middle Ages...?"

He shook his head distractedly. "Only the ones that were uploaded to the school's or the New Council's servers. Miss Fields said that most of the _really_ old journals were destroyed with the fall of the Old Council. There are still some...maybe two or three hundred ancient diaries left because watchers would constantly, uh, steal them and take them home, and basically, they now use us Junior Watchers to translate those into English and put them online. It's interesting but I'd rather read about the girls who go to school here, to be honest, because they make us train with them and I have no idea who they are."

"Okay, but C's totally old-school. Like, I had to beg him to finally get himself a smart phone for years and even now he doesn't really know what to do with it...except for flirting with potential serial killer women and inviting them into our apartment to do the thing, apparently...but anyway," she continued, waving one hand dismissively when Caleb gave her a confused look, "his journal about me is a real-real journal, how do you know that Miss Fields isn't keeping hers somewhere in her office?"

Shaking his head again, his fingers danced across the keyboard like a total pro and Hanna couldn't help but smile proudly. "I had to digitize it a while ago. Don't remember much because I was simultaneously helping her with a paper on witch trials in the modern period but I'm sure it's...look, here it is."

The young couple huddled closer together, him putting his free arm around her shoulder and her resting against his chest, as he moved the laptop on his legs so that they both could see the screen more easily.

"_Journal of Emily C. Fields. The Fifth Slayer of Columbus was given into my..._" the blonde read out aloud, trailing off with furrowed eyebrows. "Wow. _Fifth Slayer of Columbus_. She didn't even use her freaking name. What's up with you watchers and your holier-than-thou attitude? We are people, too, you know. People with names and birthdays and families and friends. Not your little action figures."

Caleb opened his mouth but she cut him off. "Can you scroll down? I want to know how she died and if she was getting the same letters and gifts I keep on receiving."

She'd read countless stories about girls who died long before her parents even met, had skimmed through various watcher's journals and dusty old books and even though the long and detailed descriptions of insanely bloody battles and brave female warriors rescuing yet another helpless human from the claws of a big bad villain were extremely entertaining, something about this particular journal made her so excited that she gave an impatient, whiny noise when Caleb didn't scroll down fast enough.

In a way, it was really funny. Hanna didn't know the last slayer, didn't know her full name, didn't know what she looked like, if she'd been a sneakers or a high heels kind of gal, whether she'd preferred Brangelina over Bennifer or if she'd been one of those militant vegetarians. She didn't know her favorite color or her favorite weapon or the sound of her voice and frankly, Hanna couldn't even decide if she liked that girl because, seriously, a slayer who hadn't managed to off all of her enemies before randomly dying obviously didn't deserve her title nor her calling, at least according to the younger and very much alive chosen one. But still, there definitely was something between them. A bond. A link. A connection, carrying on through this world and whatever came after it. She hadn't felt this close to another slayer since...well, since never.

"...hmm, something about training and school. Horse riding. Oh, she was a dancer and did ballet_. _Okay, that's kind of a weird hobby for a slayer...Miss Fields bought her a mace for her last birthday and the girl was really good with it. Cool. Gotta love a chick with a mace. _We_ _patrolled Evergreen Cemetery tonight..._hang on, isn't Evergreen in Trina's part of town? What was she even doing there?"

"Because she was meeting with a vampire that crossed over to Katrina's territory," Caleb said, pointing at a different date. "_As mentioned in an earlier entry, the slayer met the female vampire, who I couldn't find any information about, five weeks ago during her nightly patrol and was wounded gravely when the creature attacked her with a black longsword. Even though I took the weapon with me to inspect it, neither I nor any of the other watchers of the Slayer School could find anything special or magical about it. The vampire fled and wasn't seen or heard of again. Today, the slayer came home at two with a message, delivered to her by one of the female vampire's minions, presumably, that told her to meet her next Wednesday night at Evergreen."_

"Message," Hanna exclaimed loudly; Miss Hall 'shh'ed again but the couple ignored her. "See if you can find anything else about messages or letters. Please."

Fingers once more busy on the keyboard, Caleb squared his shoulder. "No. Just some random things about letters from school or the Council."

Hanna groaned. "Ugh. Whatever. Maybe they weren't the bestest of friends and the slayer didn't tell Miss Fields everything that was going on in her life. Let's see, where were we..._we patrolled Evergreen Cemetery tonight and the female vampire arrived at nine fifty-two. _Blah blah blah, Miss Fields actually asked Trina's watcher for permission to patrol Evergreen, what is wrong with these people, blah blah blah..._the slayer and the female vampire fought for about fifteen minutes until the vampire went for her neck with a silver dagger. The slayer's brother managed to stake it but unfortunately, the wound was fatal. The slayer died at ten forty-seven. _Wait, that's it? That's the last entry? Are you kidding me? Miss Fields kept this journal for nine years. She knew her slayer for nine years and she couldn't even write something _nice_ at the end? Like, I don't know, thanks for killing all the bad guys, girl, rest in peace?"

"Maybe it was too painful," Caleb suggested. "I mean, Miss Fields was there when she died and her brother was there, too. Have you seen someone with a neck wound before? You have to press your hands against it to stop the blood. She died right next to them. That's gotta hurt a lot."

"I have a hard time believing that when she didn't even use her name _once_," Hanna huffed, crossing her arms, and, on Caleb's look, she quickly added, "I know that's how all watcher's journals are written, I have read some and I saw C's journal about me. But all of this is so...cold. You would think that being with a person for almost ten years would make you have real feelings for them. At least a little."

One part of her felt immensely betrayed, a different part of her was confused by the rush of bittersweet and piercing nostalgia, nostalgia for something she hadn't even gone through, but as usual, Caleb picked up on her mood and pressed his lips to her hairline. "I think they liked each other. There's ten passages on the dead girl doing ballet and I think I saw some stuff about her family and her boyfriends, too. Trust me, a watcher isn't allowed to talk about her slayer's personal life in her journal but obviously, Miss Fields didn't care about that rule because she cared way too much about her student," he told her. "And you know that Mr. Cavanaugh loves you. Stop pouting."

She continued to frown at the laptop until he lightly nudged her temple with his forehead and she gave a sigh. "I guess," the blonde mumbled, toying with the end of his shirt absentmindedly. Then she gazed at the digital clock in the bottom corner of the screen. "You need to leave in a few. Mind if I stay here and read through Miss Fields' journal? Maybe I'll find some clues that can help us figure out who's sending me pictures of possibly dead people."

"Of course," her boyfriend replied without hesitation, "I'll pick you up after class and then we can have dinner, if you want?"

"Sounds great."

They exchanged a happy grin and shared a short kiss goodbye, and then they kissed again, and next thing she knew, they were fiercely holding onto each other, grabbing at clothes, clawing at skin, and some grunts and gasps in-between, and really, who could blame her? They had been rudely cut off earlier that day, after all, and never _really_ continued what they'd started, what she was now very eager to resume _and _finish. The laptop slid off Caleb's legs and made a loud noise that echoed across the room.

"Shhhh! This is a library!" Miss Hall croaked voice spoke.

Hanna squeaked, gently pushing Caleb away from her. "I'm sorry, Miss Hall! I dropped my purse!" she called, only to earn yet another '_shh_' from the old librarian. She rolled her eyes and turned back to the Junior Watcher who snickered at her unconvincing lie. "Two more minutes?" she whispered.

"Two more minutes," he agreed and leaned in again.

Two minutes somehow turned into five, then into ten, and eventually, they became fifteen, but Hanna decided that it was totally whatever.

* * *

><p><em>How's the Patronus charm coming along? Making any progress?<em>

Toby glanced at the clock above the television set. It was well past midnight; he and Hanna had come back from patrol ten minutes ago, after dropping off the Baby Slayer at her watcher's apartment. He had no idea why Spencer was even awake and still texting him at this hour, considering she'd pretty much ignored him and his calls all day. Every limb of his body was aching with exhaustion since he hadn't been able to catch a decent amount of sleep for days, he was sure he was _still _slightly hungover because of his escapades from the night before, he could barely hold himself upright and yet, there she was, sending him a casual text message at four in the morning, making light small talk about something he had told her while both of them were drunk. He was seriously starting to think that her joke about being kind of like Xena hadn't been a joke at all. She had to be a goddamn superhero if she could live off only one hour of sleep and a few cups of coffee.

_Nope. Missed the last Dumbledore's Army meeting because I had detention with Umbridge. Even Neville Longbottom managed to cast a Patronus the other day. I suck_, he wrote back, grinning.

A minute later, his screen flashed with a new text message. _Aww, poor baby. You know how it works, though, right? You have to think of a very happy memory. I think yesterday's gotta be a pretty happy one, don't you agree? Even if we didn't have time to finish._

As he was replying to that text, grin turning into an embarrassing blush, another came in. _Well, I definitely did finish once._

His insides contracted, a familiar hot sensation spreading through his body and traveling down south rapidly, any coherent thought leaving his brains in an instant, and he nearly choked on his spit. Hanna, however, continued the story she was telling him, blissfully oblivious to his mind slowly but surely losing focus and getting lost in the memory of yesterday night.

"I'm serious, Tobes, she was the most badass person I've _ever_ heard of. Get this: when she was twenty, she had to go on a mission to the North Pole, right, the Council sent her there, and she managed to survive _two weeks_ without sleep and barely enough food or water. Then she found the demon she was looking for and killed it just like that. Without any kind of weapon. She killed it with her bare hands. She punched a freaking _hole_ in its ribcage and ripped out its heart. You gotta admit, that's kinda hot."

How was he even supposed to reply to _that_ message when all he could now think of was the way her skin had felt under his fingers, the way her voice had made him shudder all over, the way she had trembled against him...? He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath to cool down. For god's sake, he was almost thirty years old, why was he behaving like a spluttering, awkward teenager whenever it came to her? His phone vibrated with a new text message: _Oh, sorry, shouldn't I have said that?_

"Uh-huh," Toby said to Hanna, even though he was sure that she wasn't paying attention to him, and stared at his cell phone again. _I really don't know what to say right now_, he finally typed back.

"She wasn't just an amazing slayer, by the way. She was a pretty great person, too," Hanna continued excitedly. "Like, her old watcher wouldn't let her go to college, he thought it was a waste of time because according to him, only thing she needed was her training and her calling and stuff, you know? But then she was like, _whatever, asshole_, and at some point in her teens, she struggled two jobs, her ballet thing, high school _and_ slaying. So that she could save money for college. Damn. Someone give this girl a freaking medal."

_You're really cute when you get all shy_, Spencer wrote. Feeling himself blush, _again_, he cleared his throat and mumbled, "Cool."

"I know, right? And apparently, her parents were these super important people in the Old Council and she dated some sleazy watcher guy when she was twenty-two, and they broke up after a couple of weeks," Hanna went on, "and he was a total jerk about it because _she_ broke up with _him_. And then he went to the New Council and claimed that she threw herself at him and stuff, like, he pretended that he was an innocent victim in this and insisted that she needed to be _punished_ for dating a watcher or something. And guess what she did? She convinced the Council to fire him. She actually got a watcher kicked out of the Council. Just like that. Because she was a badass woman."

The man sat up on the sofa and looked over at Hanna who was standing in the kitchen area, trying to get the bloodstains from patrol out of her blouse. "I'm sorry, who are we talking about?"

"The dead girl," Hanna replied, blowing a strand of blonde hair out of her face. "Why aren't you listening to me? Are you texting that woman again? Geez, it's four in the morning. What normal person is even awake at this time? Told you she's a crazy serial killer."

"The dead girl?" Toby repeated in a confused tone, purposely avoiding giving a reaction to the second part of her ramblings. "You mean Miss Fields' slayer? I thought you hated her?"

The blonde rolled her eyes. "Yeah but that was before I found out that she was a super mega awesome chick, and probably super mega hot, too, because I counted eight different boyfriends over the span of nine years and I'm pretty sure that there were a lot of other boys she didn't tell her watcher about."

"Where did you even find out all this stuff?"

She ignored him. "Who are you texting with?" she questioned instead. "You know, since _I _am the one with a mystical link to the universe and my instincts are always spot-on, you should listen to me and stay away from her. I got this really bad feeling when we met. Even Caleb agrees."

Raising his eyebrows at her, he regarded her confusedly. "Who is Caleb? Is that your boyfriend?" he asked. "Wait...Caleb Rivers? As in, Caleb Rivers from school? Miss Fields' Junior Watcher? _You are dating a watcher?_"

"No, don't make this about me," she replied gruffly, "this is _your _intervention."

A moment passed and then another where he merely gaped at her and eventually started laughing; she narrowed her eyes at her mentor and he was almost sure that she was going to throw her dripping wet and still blood-stained blouse his way or whack him over the head with it but then her glare turned into a scoff. "Look, as long as you don't do it on our sofa and as long as I don't have to see it, I'm all for you having a girlfriend because you _so_ need to get laid-"

Toby groaned. "Hanna, please don't-"

"Remember your ex-girlfriend in Seattle? What was her name again? Chloe? Camilla? Catherine?"

"Her name was Felicia. We went on a date _once _and you were there the whole time, throwing yourself between us and asking her questions about clothes because you kept on insisting that only evil people-"

The blonde nodded. "Yeah. That one. I really liked her. She was cool. This is _not_ me being jealous or whatever. Because I know that you love me," she said firmly, then added, in a smaller voice and with a little frown ceasing her forehead, "you do love me, right?"

"Honestly? Right now I'm not so sure any-"

"We both know that no one's _ever_ gonna take away my spot as your favorite girl," Hanna concluded, grinning broadly without acknowledging him. "And that woman you were practically doing on our sofa yesterday? I don't like her. At all. I'm a total people person, okay, I can tell when someone gives off these weird and creepy vibes and, I mean, you _saw_ the way she looked at me, did you? Clearly, we don't get along very well and you have to think of the children when you take home a stepmother. And children is just another word for me. Hanna. You have to think of your lovely Hanna when you take home a new stepmom. An evil, potential serial killer stepmom."

Not knowing if he was supposed to feel amused or irritated, he settled for a mix of both. "Why do you always throw a huge fit whenever I have a girlfriend?"

"_Girlfriend_," she repeated perplexedly, putting her hands in her hips. "She is your _girlfriend_ now?"

"No—that's not what I—I didn't," he stammered, lowering his phone and shooting her a look. "You know, actually, I'm more interested in you and Caleb Rivers. A watcher, Hanna? Really?"

She crossed her arms defiantly. "Yeah, see, I told you about him but you didn't tell me anything about your precious _girlfriend._"

"No, you didn't tell me about him until two minutes ago," Toby responded patiently, stifling his snicker when he saw her tightly pursed lips. "You can't date a watcher, Hanna. Not now. He was transferred to Columbus, what, six or seven months ago? We're new here, too, and most of them don't like us very much either. If Mr. and Mrs. Stevenson find out about it, they'll fire him, and send us back to Seattle."

With a loud sigh, the blonde came over to her mentor and sat down next to him. "But they won't find out about it because you love me and want me to be happy," she replied. Sadly, precisely because his slayer had him twisted around her finger, he couldn't disagree with that. Toby sighed, too, running a hand through his short hair as Hanna's blues flickered to his phone when it vibrated with another text message and although she groaned angrily, she didn't say anything about it. "Anyway, now that the dog is out of the bag-"

"—_the cat_—"

Again, the girl ignored him. "I asked Caleb to show me Miss Fields' journal today—no, Tobias, don't you dare give me that big I'm-so-disappointed-in-you frown, okay, I know what we did is a no-go. But I don't care. We still don't know who my annoying self-proclaimed nemesis is and since he or she seems to be after the dead girl, I thought that we'd find something in Miss Fields' journal," Hanna started, "but we found _nada_. Nothing about messages, body parts, pictures or whatever. Nothing. Just her being awesome, kicking ass and dying after meeting a pretty regular vampire..and, yeah, I thought about _that_, too, but the vamp's already dead. That demon hunter staked it," she added when he opened his mouth.

"Well, I guess that means we're back to square one," Toby mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

* * *

><p>She was running through a cemetery, effortlessly jumping over open graves and gray headstones, a bloody wooden stake in her right hand, a dagger in her left. The night sky was silent, starless, the full moon hanging high by itself, friendly clouds drifting across its light. Some nocturnal birds flew over her head, singing their cheerful melodic tunes. She was running, legs carrying her through the woods...<p>

No, no, that's not right, Hanna thought, frowning. She wasn't just running. She was _following_ something. Someone. A couple of feet away from her, lying on the muddy ground after stumbling over a stone, was a sobbing figure, barefooted and only clad in a purple-colored chiffon dress that would have been pretty if it weren't for the dirt and blood stains clinging to its fabric. When Hanna reached her, the woman looked up from under dark lashes; her lipstick was smudged, mascara trailing down her cheeks like waterfalls, a nasty cut on her forehead. Big eyes darted about in panic, breath labored and coming in short pants, as she slowly sat up and suddenly turned her head to Hanna with a defiant expression, a fiery determination blooming on her face. Her strangely _familiar_ face. Oh.

_I know you_, Hanna wanted to say, _I've seen you before. Are you the slayer? Why did you bring me here?_

But the words, they wouldn't come. Instead a humorless laugh escaped her dry lips and then she spoke, in a voice that definitely wasn't hers, "Oh goodie. Okay, I have to admit, that was fun. Got me all excited and all that. But, honey, you gotta stop running away now. I swear, I'm not going to hurt either of you."

"Screw you," the woman spat, chest heaving. "I know exactly what you're going to do and I can guarantee you that it's not going to work. It's never going to work."

"That's good. Then you know _exactly_ what's going to happen if you don't cooperate, don't you?" Hanna replied sardonically.

Her only response to that was a pointed glare. Giving her a sweet, sweet smile, Hanna threw her stake on the ground and watched in amusement as the other woman flinched when it landed right beside her head. It was utterly ironic how that bitch still tried to keep up this charade of invulnerability and ice cold control because right now, she was anything but. Hanna could see the way her underlip trembled, the very delicious red caressing her cheeks, a curious look in those oh-so-beautiful eyes of hers as she picked up the stake and inspected it. "This isn't yours," the woman said, two fingers lightly running over the engravings in the wood. "You took it from her. You don't deserve to have it."

There was someone else approaching them and both women stiffened automatically although Hanna had the feeling that she tensed up for a different reason than the woman in front of her. Whose body she was driving around, she didn't know, but this girl, this woman, she wasn't scared, oh no, she was annoyed. No. Immensely pissed off. Heels clicked on the ground as the new arrival stalked closer to the pair in a slow but firm place. They obviously knew where they were going. Again, Hanna wanted to turn around and check, to catch a glimpse of the person whose unexpected appearance made the woman on the ground give a very soft, fearful wail, one hand coming up to cover her mouth hastily, her frantic eyes instantly welling up with fresh tears, but once more, she couldn't move a single muscle.

"You're late," Hanna hissed to the newcomer without taking her gaze off of the other woman. "This little bitch put a frigging spell on me and managed to get away. Again. What the hell is this? An episode of _Sabrina the Teenage Witch_?"

"How could you do this to me?" the woman whispered, staring at the person behind Hanna. "How?"

Deciding that she'd had enough of her constant whining and moaning, Hanna pulled up the woman by her long hair, ignoring her cry of agony, and held the dagger to her throat. "Look, honey, right now, you are on my team, whether you like it or not," she told her, "and I care about my team. Because I'm a team player. But the question is: are _you_ a team player, Glinda?"

The woman's petite body shook with sobs. "Screw you. Screw _both_ of you."

Without warning, Hanna felt something in her face change. Ugly fangs growing in her mouth, the sound of the woman's rapidly beating heart right at her ear, the smell of her fear and her rich hot blood slightly intoxicating her. Making her hungry. Making her...oh god, she was trapped inside a vampire's body. "I care about my team," Hanna repeated. "Do you know what that means? That means I care about _you_, too. But I haven't had anything to eat all freaking day so you better not make me grumpy, witch bitch, or I'll allow myself a taste or two. I heard mommies are especially yummy."

Then she threw the weeping woman back on the ground as carelessly as she had thrown her stake earlier; her willowy white arms immediately covered her stomach protectively when she fell face down. Her _bulging_ stomach, Hanna suddenly realized and wanted to start crying, too, when she kicked the woman right in her very pregnant belly, hidden by her long, purple dress. The witch's pleas and begs to _please _let her go and _stop_ only seemed to spur the vampire on further and she gave yet another hard kick before she leaned down and snarled, "Don't you dare run away again. Understood?"

A second later, she was somewhere else; sitting on a dark back porch at night—a stormy, cold night, this time—her forehead leaning against the cold wall of a house, and both of her hands weakly banging against the door. "...please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she whimpered quietly. Hanna didn't really know _how_ she knew it but she was sure that she had been sitting here for hours now, begging whoever was inside to forgive her, to finally open the door and let her talk to them, let her explain, even if it was only for a minute or two, because didn't they understand that she was aching as much as they were? Didn't they understand that nothing, _nothing_, had ever hurt as bad as this?

But even though there was definitely some shuffling inside the house, lights turning on and turning off again a few beats later, no one answered the door. No one let her in. No one wanted to see her.

She couldn't blame them. After all, she couldn't stand being herself right now either.

Chuckling dryly, Hanna looked over her shoulder. "Well, are you having fun?" she asked the vampire who was standing by the snow-covered apple tree and who seemed surprised at being caught. "Don't think I didn't feel you. You've been here for at least ten minutes. When are you going to kill me? That's why you came here, right?"

"No, Slayer, that's not why I was sent here. I have a message for you," the vamp answered in a very calm and somehow weirdly polite tone although Hanna could almost _sense_ the blood lust lurking in his veins, the obvious and crushing hunger, the burning _need_, for the dead body of a slayer, making it hard for him to concentrate on anything but Hanna's creamy white neck. "My master wants you to know that she is sorry for your loss. She never meant to go as far as she did. It just happened. It was an accident."

Hanna gave a sarcastic laugh. "Do you know what I want _her_ to know? One morning, after a long, long night of bossing you brainless morons around, she'll go to bed...or crawl into her coffin, I don't really know and I couldn't care less, but one day, she'll go to sleep. And then she's going to wake up on fire."

The scene before her eyes changed once more. Suddenly, she was lying on the ground and someone was hovering over her, so much dark wet hair all over her face and gentle warm hands pressing against her neck vigorously. "Don't die, don't die," Emily Fields whispered. "Please don't die. _Don't_ die."

"Calm down, Emily, I won't," Hanna managed to choke out. "But you have to get me to a hospital."

Emily nodded hastily, tears running down her cheeks. "I know that but I c-can't let go of your neck, or you—you'll bleed out and—_oh god_, you can't die, do you hear me? You can't die. _Please_ don't die."

"Do me a favor and stop freaking out for a moment. Stop being my friend. I need a watcher. Be a watcher. I have a bleeding neck wound and I need to go to the hospital. Where the hell did Jason go?"

The brunette woman looked like she was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. "I-I don't know, I think he ran after the vampire who attacked you but I-I'm not sure. Oh god, you're bleeding so much..."

Hanna put a trembling hand on top of her watcher's and gave it an assuring squeeze. "Listen, you have to get to your car, find your cell phone and call the ambulance. And then you have to come back here."

"No. No way. I'm not leaving you here all by yourself. It's night and we're in a cemetery and there are-"

The slayer cut her off. "If we wait for Jason to come back, I'll die. I've thought about my death before and this is _not_ how I want to go out, do you understand me? Just—just hurry up, get your cell phone, call the ambulance and then come back here as fast as possible. You can do this. I believe in you."

"_No_, I can't-"

"Yes, you can," Hanna insisted. "I don't want to die like this, Emily. I don't. I _refuse_ to die like this."

A moment passed between the two women—watcher and slayer, mentor and student, _friends—_and Emily kept crying, her salty tears spilling on Hanna's face, just like her dark hair and the rain coming down strong, and then the brunette kissed her forehead, took both of the slayer's hands into her own, pressed them against her still bleeding wound, finally stood up from the ground and broke into a run.

Hanna coughed, a foreign feeling rising in her guts, and for the first time in years, she allowed herself to be scared. She wasn't ready. This wasn't how she'd pictured her death, her final curtain call, the last bang before burning out and becoming another meaningless dot on the long and sacred tree of slayers.

There were tears in her eyes now, too, hot, hot tears, burning her skin. She'd wanted to change the fucking world. Be the Chosen One of the Chosen Ones. The one and only, the true warrior, forever remembered. And now, all she was, was a whiny little girl, waiting for the pain to end. How ironic.

"Ugh, thank god. Well, not _literally_, of course, because I'm a soulless demon and I'm sure the big man up there doesn't appreciate that but anyway...what I meant to say was: I thought your watcher would never leave us two alone," a voice behind her said and Hanna jumped awake.

Two minutes later, she burst into Toby's room, switching the lights on. He immediately awoke with a start, almost falling off the bed when he attempted to sit up while covering his eyes. "What the hell, Hanna?" he murmured.

She didn't give him any time to react and simply emptied the trashcan on his carpet. "I had a really weird dream. A slayer dream, I think. Not the prophetic kind. Just a normal slayer dream. And I was, like, two different people or maybe three, I don't know, it was all kinds of confusing," she said, holding up her hand to shush his protests and started frantically searching around the mess she'd made on his bedroom floor. "Like, first I was just having a steamy dream involving me and Caleb and a hot tub and then I was a vampire, chasing after the woman from the picture, and like I told you before, I _know_ I know her from somewhere and it took me some time to figure it out but then I remembered..."

Finally, she found enough pieces of the photograph she had ripped apart and put them together like a tiny puzzle. "I dreamed about her before. On the night of the restroom thing. Same purple dress, same big eyes, same face and all. Back then I just thought I was dreaming nonsense like I usually do after eating too much because there was this singing chipmunk in a hula skirt...ugh, whatever. She has appeared to me before and tonight, she appeared to me again. That's gotta mean something, right?"

Toby yawned, then sat down next to her. "Is she the dead girl?"

"Nope. I'm pretty sure she died but I don't think she's the dead slayer," Hanna replied and continued to stare at the woman's face, half-hoping, half-expecting her to come out of the picture and tell her what was going on. "Look, since the demon hunter and Miss Fields won't help us, I think we need to find out who this woman is..._was_," she corrected herself. "The watcher's journal was a dead end, too, and we're still not any closer to figuring out who's running around Columbus, killing innocent people and writing me super polite threats. I mean, I _know_ they think I'm someone else but it's my fight now, isn't it? Saving people is what we do."

Humming in agreement, Toby nodded slowly, then asked, "Yeah, that's a good idea but how do you expect me to find out who this is? All we've got is a blurry picture."

"She was a witch," Hanna answered. "C'mon, don't tell me the Council doesn't have an official list of every witch and wizard there is. You guys have a list for everything. You even have lists for lists. And since there are Slayer Schools, I wouldn't be surprised if there were witch schools. Like Hogwarts."

Usually, whenever she made a Harry Potter reference, her watcher shot her an amused smile but for some reason she didn't understand, this time, he completely ignored it and only cleared his throat with a very small, barely-there blush she would've missed if she hadn't been watching him closely. Huh. "Um, yeah, you have to register as practicing witch or wizard. There are people who don't but I guess it's a start, right? Anything else you can tell me about her?"

"Seriously, we need to write this down, now," she told him and he reached for the notebook on his bedside table, raising his eyebrows expectantly. "Okay, let's see, she was pregnant when she died. Like, _way _pregnant. Swollen belly and stuff. And...and the last slayer, the dead girl, she felt _extremely_ guilty for what happened to this woman. They were close, I bet. Maybe they were sisters? Or friends?"

Her watcher nodded again. "What else?"

Even though she had the feeling that she was forgetting something huge, overlooking a very important and crucial detail, Hanna couldn't remember what it was; as dreams so often do, her little trip down the memory lane of a long dead girl started fading away until all that was left was the ugly taste of blood and vomit on her tongue. She grimaced. "That's it," she said meekly.

And then she thought: _I'm so sorry..._but the woman on the picture didn't answer.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Wow. After editing this monster for nearly three and a half hours, it's still super long. You guys, seriously, please tell me if you'd rather have shorter chapters. Obviously, I have a lot of fun writing and editing this story and I'm still very much in love with this little universe I've created but I'd be lying if I said that I'm only writing it for myself. I mean, I put it online for you beautiful people to read and if you prefer shorter chapters, let me now and I'll work my magic, mmkay?

(Also, as a side note: I'd like to take a minute to thank Joss Whedon, creator of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_—you know, the show whose mythology I burrowed—for inventing Slayer Dreams because, let's face it, they're a much cooler way to use flashbacks in a story. Thanks, Joss, u da bestest. Sometimes.)

**Reviews! Yay!**

**LeahCavanaugh: **Thank you!

**Guest #1: **You don't know how many times I've read and re-read your review over the last couple of days but I'm still smiling like an idiot and literally at a loss for words right now and trust me, that doesn't happen very often. Because I never know when to shut up. Thank you so much for your kind words! I'm so happy you're enjoying this story!

**Guest Number One: **Girl, if you're still alive after that Spoby scene at the beginning and if you ever find out that you're not-that-straight after all, please give me a call because we seriously need to get married ASAP. I mean, I already felt like I finally found the Cristina to my Meredith when I only knew that we shared _some_ fandoms and ships but now that you've thrown in OTH, too, I'm pretty sure that we're soulmates. Gosh, OK, lemme think. I guess Ali's Regina, right? I feel so bad but early-series Hanna would be a _great_ Karen. I can't decide whether Spencer's Cady or Janice, though. And Emily doesn't fit in as a Plastic at all. What about you? (Bonus question: what Hogwarts houses would you sort them into?) Hahaha, I really don't know if that was intentional on your part but I laughed _so _hard at your "That would be illegal". Like, remember when Troian gave a tour of the PLL set and then she's in Ezra's apartment and goes "This is Ezra's apartment. I don't ever do anything in here cuz that would be illegal. That's just Aria"? And that's what happened just now, I read what you wrote and I went "Yeah, stalking is illegal...that's just Ezra". Ugh ugh ugh, you're the cutiest, though, seriously. You need to stop with the compliments and you need to _stop_ making me blush. Nah, I haven't completely given up on Emison yet, don't worry, I still ship them. Not as much as I used to, mind you, but I still like them. It's just Alison who annoys me and I want her to finally get her shit together. (Romione 5ever, duh. Harmony makes me cringe tbh and I feel as though I _should_ like Dramione because they're kinda sorta similar to other pairings I enjoy but nah, son. Get that shit away from me. I don't want it. Nah. No. Nope. Nein. Non.) Gah, Shay Mitchell is just unreal, I swear to god. All of them are beautiful ladies but _Shay freaking Mitchell_ (andjaneltooshhh). This is going to sound so lame since I've been writing fic for years, lotsa different fandoms, ships and obsessions, but I still get ridiculously happy when people actually read my stuff and like it. Doesn't matter if it's three or ten or even sixty. Like, yay, there are real people who think my stories are worth their time! It's kinda mind-blowing, you know. But I'll try to think of a different summary. Even if I completely suck at writing those. "Vampires. Slayers. Some normal people. Then stuff happens. People are secretive. Main couples banging. Read it. Thanks."

Thank y'all so much! See you next week!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N**: Yeah, someone's sluttin' it up. _Again_. I'm sorry (jk, I'm not). It's definitely more explicit than the last one. Just skip Toby's second part of the chapter if it makes you uncomfortable and/or if you aren't interested in getting all that UST out of the way. Bye now. See you in the Author's Note at the end.

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><p><strong>Part One<strong>: The Cruel Sister  
><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

Hellmouths were known to attract a lot of supernatural activity and thus, the vicious and not-so-vicious creatures of the night; they were, as Hanna had described it quite accurately on the plane a few months ago, places where _legit shit went down_. Considering that Columbus was merely a short car drive away from Cleveland's Mouth of Hell, Toby was surprised to find only eleven practicing witches in his new hometown and none of them fit the description of the hazel-eyed, dark-haired woman from the photograph his slayer had finally managed to glue back together. Most of them were way too old, some of them were a little too young, three of them were of Native American descent, two were black and one was a fifty-two-year-old Scandinavian Gender Studies professor who wrote papers on the inaccurate representation of Paganism in media. Now furrowing his brows in concentration, he checked the picture once more in case he'd overlooked an important detail the first sixteen times, sighed loudly, when he found nothing new and then decided to broaden his search to the whole state. _87 results_, the website of the Watcher's Council announced. Almost one hundred results. Well, that was manageable. It's not like he had anything interesting to do, anyway, and Hanna was off...somewhere, as usual.

A group of Baby Slayers on their way to the gym passed him, two of the younger ones giggling when their red-haired friend greeted Toby with a shy wave. Slowly, he waved back with a confused look, glancing after the girl who, too, started snickering girlishly and immediately ran after her sister slayers.

Still thoroughly confused, he stared back at Hanna's laptop screen, squared his shoulders, and clicked the first link on the list, a certain "BAKER, L"; then, after a middle-aged woman sporting a toothy grin appeared on his display, he switched to the next one, "BROWN, M". It went on like this for nearly twenty-five minutes, his search effort remaining fruitless. Granted, he hadn't really expected to find the pregnant witch from Hanna's dreams and the anonymous picture she'd received just like that, but it was still somewhat discouraging that there was absolutely nothing under DiLaurentis. No sister, then, like his blonde slayer had suggested. So much for their theory. Toby tapped his feet nervously, fidgeting slightly, and clicked on the next link. Or maybe Miss Fields—Emily—had already made sure that any traces of the brunette woman's existence were completely wiped off the New Council's website since she seemed to be deeply connected to the mystery surrounding the last slayer's death. The mystery the watcher kept on tightly clinging on to, furiously trying to bury the secrets she and the demon hunter, what was his name, _Jason_, had, deep in the ground, preferably in a comfy coffin next to the dead girl.

His white cursor was hovering between "MONTANA, D" and "MONTGOMERY, A" when Jenna and Richard Philips stepped out of the latter's office, both of them holding a paper cup of the school cafeteria's strong, black coffee in their hands and laughing lightly. His sister wore a black skirt with a dangerous slit that traveled far up her right thigh, combined with one of her dressed-to-impress suit jackets and, judging by the other watcher's unfocused and wandering gaze, she'd succeeded with that.

The woman tucked a strand of her long, dark hair behind her ear, her hand lingering on her neck for a small moment before she lowered it almost coyly, and produced the same innocent and girlish smile she normally used on their father. "Thank you for lunch, Rich," she said. "And thanks for the wine."

"It was my pleasure," Richard purred and Toby stifled his mocking snort. "We have known each other for almost twelve years, Jenna. One day, you'll have to finally let me take you to a _real_ restaurant, on a _real_ date. I already told you that in Berlin...Bombay...Glasgow...Istanbul...last month in Cleveland..."

At that, Toby's ear perked up curiously and he looked in their direction. _Last month_ in Cleveland? Had he just said that his sister and her walking killing machine of a slayer had been staying in Ohio for over a month and she'd only decided to drop by now? Something about this wasn't right. This wasn't at all the Jenna way to handle things, staying away from Columbus and her horde of worshipers and countless admirers for so long. _Friends_ wasn't the right word; Jenna didn't have any friends. Yet another thing they had in common, he thought, even though there were different reasons for his lonesomeness.

"Oh, please don't take that personally, you know I'd love to but I'm just so busy all the time," Jenna retorted, voice dripping with honey. "See you tomorrow at the meeting. Thanks again. For _everything_."

When she spun around without waiting for his answer, she simultaneously got rid off her fake mask of sugary sweetness, it seemed, because suddenly, her scarred face hardened all over, red lips stretched by a disgusted scoff as if she still couldn't believe that she'd willingly spent time with the other man who was now looking after her with a yearning expression that Toby could only describe as lovesick fool.

Her green eyes landed on Toby as she moved down the hall like a hungry cat on prowl, moved down the hall as though she owned it, a little swagger in her fast but determined steps, her head held high, and black shoes going _click, click, click_ on the floor; devil in heels had never been more fitting.

She kept on walking and walking and walking, until she stood right in front of her younger brother, arms crossed over her chest; first she glanced down at him, eyebrows raised, then at his screen. "_List of Registered Witches in Ohio_," she read in an amused tone. "Why the sudden interest in those freaks?"

With a loud sigh, Toby closed the laptop sharply and put it in his brown leather bag. "I just realized I never had the chance to thank you and tell you that I really love having you here," he said, holding her greens, no idea where his confidence had come from. "Because I'd almost forgotten what a horrible person you are but seeing you every single day reminds me that you are still as awful as ever."

The brunette chuckled. "Walk with me?" she asked.

"I think you can walk just fine by yourself."

"Walk with me," she repeated with an impatient smile, her tone making it clear that it wasn't a question but an order.

Slipping into his jacket, he rolled his eyes, took his bag and followed her outside. Again, she moved in a quick, elegant pace, almost flying, _dancing_, through the building, nodding curtly in greeting when she spotted one or two familiar faces, an authoritative and very sharp glare shot in the direction of the four Baby Slayers who were doing, if he had to guess, cheerleading-inspired exercises in the entrance hall.

As the siblings eventually exited the school building, descending the small white stairs, Toby saw Emily Fields standing by the gates and talking to her three Junior Watchers. Naturally, Hanna's boyfriend was among them, too, and gave the older watcher an unsure grin when their eyes met.

"Hello Emmy," Jenna exclaimed, touching the other woman's arm almost adoringly. "Is this a field trip? Are you and your puppies on your way to the museum? Where are your lunch boxes, guys?"

Both female watchers regarded each other for a second and as always, neither seemed overly happy to see the other. When Toby had first witnessed them interact, he'd merely thought that things between the two women were complicated, strained, but that, as it turned out, had been a huge understatement.

He watched them now, gaze going from one mentor to the other, and thought back to that one unfortunate Christmas back home, in San Francisco. Their parents had forgotten to buy them presents that year; Mom was convinced that her husband would do it, Dad thought his wife would handle it, and eventually, since both watchers were busy with work, both Cavanaugh children ended up with nothing. Not knowing what to do, they'd then told the siblings that Santa had accidentally skipped their house, promising them with big, big smiles that he would return next Christmas with bigger and even better presents. Toby had cried all day, feeling punished for being a naughty boy and not even his mother's hugs had helped him calm down; Jenna, on the other hand, had taken the news with no expression whatsoever, just a short nod and a weird glimmer in her green eyes. He'd woken up to a loud screech the next morning, rushed downstairs and found his sister sitting on a pile of his parents' clothes with a scissor, cutting through their mother's dresses, their father's ties...she'd also managed to destroy almost all of the paintings in the sitting room before anyone noticed what was up. It was a total nightmare.

After actually _apologizing_ to the dark-haired girl, their father had immediately left the house with his precious daughter and bought her anything she liked; a new puppy, shiny new toys, a few books, whatever she asked for, she got, even though Mom had pursed her lips and sighed loudly. Maybe that had been the moment when his sister realized that she could do whatever she wanted without having to face the consequences of her actions, and it was still like that; _she_ was still like that. She could do it, had that charming face and all the right words, a sugarcoated smile and an assertiveness so cunning that not even Mr. Stevenson had noticed how she had gone from her seat in the back of the room to sitting next to him, on Emily's usual chair, making the other watcher flinch back in defeat with one smirk.

The Junior Watchers gave a collective nervous laugh and Toby raised his head, blinking at this surroundings, having momentarily forgotten where he was; Caleb Rivers and the two teenage girls next to him avoided Jenna's stern look entirely as Emily narrowed her eyes at her old friend, or whatever they really were, seemingly remembering the meeting from earlier that day, too.

"We are driving over to Cleveland," Emily replied eventually, her voice cold as ice, then hissed to other man, "Remember what we talked about the other day?"

Toby nodded curtly. _Do yourself a favor and stay away from Jenna_, she'd told him in a low voice. He didn't know Emily that well but he believed her...and how could he not? No one had to tell _him_ that his sister was the kind of woman any sane person would avoid. He had grown up with her. But the watcher didn't seem to understand that it wasn't that easy, it wasn't that easy to _stay away. _Nothing was with Jenna. He'd kicked her and their father out of his life eight years ago and yet, here she was. Again.

Watching Toby intently, the brunette woman opened her mouth to speak once more, this time with a both angry and confused frown between her dark eyebrows but Jenna was faster.

"Wow, a field trip to the Hellmouth. That's gotta be fun," she fake-laughed. "Are you excited? I mean, it's the last active Hellmouth in North America, that's pretty neat, right? Sadly, Cleveland doesn't have a Slayer School like you guys do but they have a Slayer Squad with many wickedly talented girls."

Emily scoffed. "I'll tell them you said hello," she retorted. "Now if you excuse us, we need to leave."

"Sure. Don't let me keep you. Have a safe trip," Jenna nodded with a broad smile. "And _please_ tell Jason I'm not angry that no one opened the door when I went over to his place yesterday even though his car was parked outside. I'm sure it was a misunderstanding. Also, tell him to call me back. I need to talk to him."

"About what?"

"Oh, you know, about his not-so-little problem in Cleveland. Since _you_ refuse to help me with that."

And then she turned around and walked off. Toby threw Emily, who only shrugged her shoulders, face whitening, a quick glance and followed his older sister hastily. She led them to a bench and sat down without a word, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small, red packet and a silver Zippo he recognized from their father. She twirled the lighter around her fingers for a few moments before she offered him a cigarette. The youngest Cavanaugh hadn't smoked in a year and actually wasn't eager to go back to old habits but he still accepted, mumbling a short thanks. Then they sat next to each other, neither speaking up, and both puffing away at their cigarettes. He could see Hanna somewhere in the distance; she was leaning against a willow tree and seemed to be..._reading a book_. That was new.

Sighing, he turned back to Jenna. "How's Dad?" he asked.

"He's great. Sweet Janice, his girlfriend, moved in a few months ago, after he finally got rid of Mom's old clothes. Thank god because they were starting to smell. Anyway, Daddy and Janice, they've been together for...hmmm...let me think...five years now. I think he'll pop the question soon," she replied nonchalantly. Almost seventeen years had passed and her heartless comments about their mother still stung in the worst ways. He hoped she hadn't seen his reaction to her words and dropped his eyes, trying hard not to blink. "But of course you'd know that if you actually cared about Daddy," she continued. "He's really old, Tobes, and one phone call won't kill you."

"Guilt-tripping. Nice try. I'm sure you drive to San Fran every other weekend and see that Dad's doing well," Toby said with a sneer. "You know, when you're not busy in Berlin or Moscow or _Cleveland_."

Jenna raised her eyebrows and laughed. "I was wondering when you would bring that up," she responded lightly. "I don't owe you an explanation but if you must now, I had business in Cleveland. A watcher I used to be really good friends with called me there for an emergency."

"You used to be _really good _friends with a lot of people."

"Sixteen years, Toby. I've been with the Council, the old and the new one, for sixteen years. I have useful business contacts and a few friendly colleagues. I have people begging to kiss the ground I walk on. I made some friends...I made a lot of enemies," she pointed at the scar on her face, "but no matter how much they claim to hate me, people still care about what I have to say. Because I'm important. Because I have power. Maybe one day, when you're a real boy, you'll find out how that feels."

He rolled his eyes, flicking his cigarette and sending the ash towards the ground, and took another deep drag. "What kind of emergency was it?" he inquired. "I mean you were in Ohio for a month without contacting Mr. or Mrs. Stevenson. You know, the two people you are _really good _friends with."

"Oh, that's between the DiLaurentis family and me and really none of your business," Jenna countered. "But since you mentioned Olivia and Roger, I think it's time to cut to the chase. I talked to Olivia earlier today, about you...and your Hanna Banana." The siblings glanced over to the blonde in question who had ditched her book and was now doing yoga...or rather, something that was most likely supposed to _look_ like yoga. "And after a very interesting lunch with Richard Philips, all of us agreed that it'd be for the best if I took over your watcher duties for the time being."

Toby froze. "What?"

"Don't give me that embarrassing pout, Tobias, it's only for a few weeks. I have to go back to California and my school eventually. My slayer doesn't like Columbus, she says the vampires back home are different," she told him. "You demonstrate a relationship with your slayer which Olivia, Roger and I find way too close. You are an older brother figure to her and that gets in the way of her job. She still hasn't found the creature that is after her, she still hasn't been able to kill-"

"That is _not_ her fault," Toby interrupted her, surprised at the venom in his voice. "She is trying and-"

"No one said it was her fault," the dark-haired woman snapped. "It's _yours_. It's _your_ incompetence, it's _your_ incapability of being a good teacher, it's _your_ goddamn emotions and personal involvement that renders you unable to make _your_ slayer do her job properly. I took her on patrol with us the other night and she refused to listen to my orders and even went so far as to call me names. I have never_,_ not even once, encountered a warrior as stubborn and disobeying as her. I am ashamed to be your sister."

"Do you really think I'm going to let you-"

Jenna smirked. "Let me what? _I_ didn't do anything. Believe it or not but I actually love you. You're really lucky I talked to Olivia and Roger because they were considering giving Hanna to Richard," she stated, "who isn't very fond of you, by the way. Besides, like I said, it's not forever. Give me four or five weeks, and Hanna is finally going to learn how to be a real good girl."

He could feel her highly amused gaze roaming all over his features, getting drunk on his pain. Some things would never change. "So that's why Richard made up these stories about Hanna and me, right? About her not having her part of town under control? You asked him to, didn't you?"

She inhaled deeply off the end of her cigarette, then blew the smoke in his face. "God, don't be silly, Tobes. Accusing your own flesh and blood of doing something cruel like that? What would Mom say?"

"Why?" he asked her. "You've been in Ohio for weeks. Why now? What do you gain from this?"

For a moment, she didn't say anything and instead watched Hanna as the blonde performed a perfect handstand while Toby, too, sat next to her in silence, rubbing his forehead. "I told you, I had business in Cleveland. There are some things you and this pathetic excuse of a school, Olivia and Roger included, don't need to know about," she then said. "I didn't come here to ruin your..._career _or whatever you want to call it. This isn't about hate. It's about power. I'm not taking away your slayer because I hate you."

A beat passed before she added, "I'm doing it because I can", and he felt sick to his stomach.

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><p>She'd been almost five years old, either happily munching away on her cereal and watching <em>The Fairly OddParents<em> or furiously doodling inside her coloring book in the kitchen, she wasn't so sure, when a strict-looking woman with black hair had knocked at her parents' door. Her name was Mrs. Carmen Rodriguez, she'd told them after her Hanna's mother invited her inside and they sat down in the kitchen. Mom had listened to Mrs. Rodriguez talk about the blonde girl's uniqueness and powers with a frown and Hanna had lingered on the stairs, eyebrows raised, mimicking one of her mom's well-known skeptic looks perfectly, trying to catch a few bits and pieces of their conversation, but she hadn't _really _understood anything. Except that the weird and sometimes extremely scary dreams she kept on having, the dreams about monsters and strong girls and girls _dying_ and girls _being killed_, weren't only a product of her imagination like the friendly doctor in Philly had concluded. They were real.

A coven of white witches in New York identified Hanna as a Potential Slayer, Mrs. Rodriguez had later said, when Hanna's father was there, threatening to call the police if the woman didn't leave, and her parents hadn't wanted to let their only daughter go, no matter how much Mrs. Rodriguez insisted that Hanna needed proper training. She'd been back in Pennsylvania in less than three and a half weeks, anyway, this time accompanied by five bulky men and some more watchers, young and old, male and female. And then they'd taken Hanna with them, and there had been tears, a lot of tears, and the little girl refusing to leave with them, and Mrs. Rodriguez simply packing her bag, throwing a few shirts, pants and dresses into a huge suitcase...

She still remembered every single word that had come out of her father's mouth, every single hiccup her mother had given when Hanna hugged her tightly, remembered the heartache and every single tear that shook her tiny body with pain no girl her age should have felt. But other than that, she sadly didn't remember much about them; most of her memories involving her parents had eventually faded into the darkness, her mom's beautiful face replaced by her first watcher's rare but incredibly gentle smiles and her dad's stern voice slowly sounding foreign and strangely alien to her ears. Over the years, Mrs. Rodriguez had become her family and after her death, it was Toby. He was the only family she had left.

The pain back then, the pain of being away from her parents, had made her cry for months; the pain of losing Mrs. Rodriguez, her first mentor, her mother figure, had almost torn her apart and destroyed her completely but for some reason, nothing compared to this.

Betrayed. She felt betrayed.

"I don't understand," she said, avoiding his gaze because she was certainly not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry, not when he hadn't even fought for her. That jackass. "Like, are you stupid or something? _Temporary _watcher? That doesn't exist. She made that up. Five freaking weeks my ass. Your sister's going to take me to L.A. with her and you know it."

"No, Hanna, she can't do that.," Toby answered. With him suddenly kneeling on the floor in front of her, their eyes were on a level. Definitely a wrong move; she could slap him a lot easier now...or maybe punch him. Or maybe she would do both. "It's the Council who makes the big decisions, remember?"

Crossing her arms, she looked away and stared at the poster of the Seattle skyline that hung over her desk. "Don't do that. Don't talk to me like you care about me 'cuz you don't. I was _so_ right about this, you're literally Toby freaking Iscariot," she hissed. From the corner of her eye, she could see him drop his gaze in shame as if her words hurt him. Good. "_It's the Council who makes the big decisions, Hanna_. Seriously, I'm so mad right now. All you watchers are in the Council, _remember?_ And your sister and your dad are important people, _remember? _She's gonna take me away forever."

He touched her leg lightly, forcing her to look back at him. "I'm not going to let her do that," he assured her. "I'll talk to Mr. and Mrs. Stevenson again, and then we'll-"

"No, _ugh_, I don't wanna hear this. Don't give me that crap. I'm so freaking mad at you," she cut in loudly. "You didn't even _try_ to stop her. You didn't stand up for me _or_ yourself. I have no idea what that woman did to you but it's kinda embarrassing that you're so scared of your older sister. Like, how old are you? Twelve? Are you afraid your dad's gonna ground you? Boo fucking hoo."

At that, Toby said nothing. His expression was neutral and free of judgment...or any reaction, really, but she could still sense his uneasiness. _Oh_. Hanna bit her lower lip, feeling guilty. Maybe she shouldn't have said that. Hurting him a little just like he'd hurt her by treating her like a tiny toy soldier he'd grown tired of was one thing, using his emotions against him was another. She tried shooting him a small smile, nudging his knee with her shoe to get a response out of him and he looked up eventually but again, he kept perfectly silent. One part of her wished he would just yell at her and be done with it.

"Why do I have to live with her and Scary Spice? Why can't I stay here? I like our apartment," the blonde babbled, playing with her bracelet. "Like, my bed's really comfy, you know, and I get uncomfortable in other people's showers because I never know what's going on...and...and how am I going to survive without your pancakes every Sunday? And what about clothes? I don't even know how to use a freaking washing machine! I don't know how _things _work and I need you to explain them to-"

It was unfair how easy it was for him to look right through her. It was unfair how well they knew each other. In one short second, he pulled her down to him, almost right in his lap like a baby, put his arms around her shoulders and hugged her to his body. She exhaled loudly into his shoulder, the tension in her veins floating away as he rubbed small, soothing circles on her back. It was amazing until it was not and became _kind of_ weird. They hadn't hugged in months; sure, they always did these sort of half-hugs and sometimes he kissed her temple when she hooked her arms into his or poked him in the ribs but real hugs, hugs like this one, weren't their thing. Like, _at all_. He must have realized that, too, because he broke off their embrace abruptly and cleared his throat while she sat back on her bed.

"Tomorrow morning, I'm going to talk to them again," Toby spoke in his adult voice, the one he used when he needed to convince himself. "But in the meantime, you have to be nice to Jenna..._I know_, Han, don't look at me like that. Trust me, I feel the exact same way but _please_ just...just use your Marin charm, okay? Do as she says. She'll get bored if you don't fight back. That's how she is."

Even though the thought of doing just that to that nasty bitch disgusted her thoroughly, the slayer eventually nodded with a half-groan, half-sigh. "I wish we had stayed in Seattle," she grumbled. "I'm serious, boss. This city is fucked up. People hate each other for no reason, everyone's keeping secrets, the dead girl made a super annoying enemy before she died and now I have to deal with it...oh, speaking of, did you find anything useful about our pregnant witch?"

He shook his head. "Not yet."

"Good. Keep on looking until you find something," Hanna commanded. His eyebrows shot up and she giggled. "I told Caleb to keep an eye on Miss Emily I'm-so-mysterious Fields. They're in Cleveland until tomorrow night and he was all, _aye-aye, boss_. Hee. You two are, like, my slaves. My watcher slaves."

"I prefer the term team. We're your team. You're the slayer and we're your team."

"No, you're my slaves," she repeated firmly, then added, again with crossed arms, "I'm still really pissed at you, though. You can't hug or sweet-talk your way out of this, mister. You dropped me like a hot potato. I'm _so_ gonna kick your ass for that when I'm back. Just saying."

He gave her a smile but it wasn't a genuine one.

* * *

><p>Without Hanna, there was a dark void in their apartment, a soundless echo of memories past bouncing through the room, making the air around him so heavy that all he could do after she left was lie on the sofa and stare up at the ceiling. He was used to her going out, coming home late, sometimes even drunkenly stumbling over furniture; was used to her staying at her <em>uncle <em>or her _friend_ or whatever new excuse she invented for meeting up with her not-so-secret boyfriend but this, this was different. She wasn't coming back the next day and, if he was honest with himself, she wasn't coming back the day after either, wasn't going to wrestle the remote control out his grasp, later, and switch to one of her TV shows while he groaned in the background, telling her that there was no way he'd willingly sit through another rewatch of a group of rich kids living in California or New York. She wasn't going to burst into his room in the middle of the night, flopping onto his bed to talk about her nightmares, the newest viral video, boy problems or this _cute dress_ she had just found online and _please, Toby, you don't understand, I need this_. Because they had taken her away from him, because _Jenna_ had taken her away from him and he had let them. Hanna had been absolutely right, he'd betrayed her. And she had been right about everything else, too.

He'd tried to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Stevenson after his unexpected encounter with Jenna, tried to reason with them, tried to make them change their minds; the female Head Watcher _had_ defended both Hanna and him just one week ago, hadn't she? But the couple had only shaken their heads.

"It's just for a while, Mr. Cavanaugh. Your sister knows what she's doing," they'd promised. Just for a while, a couple of weeks. A month, maybe two. They'd told him not to worry. _Happens to the best of us._ But, god, he knew how this usually went, he knew that Hanna's words were true, knew that he was most likely not getting her back ever again. It was a punishment. A punishment for not falling in line, for not doing as they were told, for being _too close_ to Hanna and not taking his role as mentor seriously. It was Jenna's way of showing that she could still storm into his life like an angry tornado whenever she liked. They were probably going to send him back to Seattle by the end of the week, he mused, leaving his girl in the cold hands of his older sister. Richard Philips had gotten exactly what he wanted, too, after successfully planting the ugly seed of doubt and animosity in most of the other watchers' heads. What had Hanna called it again? Competition. It was always about competition. And power, he added with a grim expression, thinking of Jenna's smug grin and the sparkle in her very green eyes.

Maybe he was being melodramatic.

No, not maybe. He was definitely being melodramatic. After all, he had managed to make Hanna relax, hadn't he; maybe some things would be better tomorrow morning. Sunshine after the storm and all that.

With an eye-roll, Toby put Hanna's buzzing laptop on his knees, opened it and was immediately greeted by the Council's familiar website and the list he'd been engrossed in earlier that day. At least he could _try_ to take some of his admittedly very negative outlook on the whole Jenna situation and turn it into productivity.

And suddenly, just a few seconds, a almost hopeless sigh and one click later, there she was. The woman from the photograph he now held against the screen to compare. She seemed a bit older and somewhat less happy on the picture the Council had uploaded for her but it was unmistakeably the same person. If the listed date of birth was correct and if—and, honestly, that was a big _if—_she had somehow managed to survive the gruesome attack Hanna had described, she would've now been thirty-two, turning thirty-three in a few months. He looked at the photograph again. Was the blonde girl in her lap _her_ kid?

"Hmmm...born in New York State...moved to Cleveland in 2006 and lived there until she disappeared about six years ago," he mumbled to himself, scratching at his cheek. "That doesn't make any sense."

He reached for his phone blindly and wrote to Hanna: _Found the witch in Cleveland. She's been missing since late 2008. Can't find a connection between her and the dead girl though. Jenna mentioned something about the Hellmouth and the DiLaurentis family today. You think that could be related to each other?_

Still not used to his phone, it took him nearly ten minutes to write that short text and attach a picture of the witch to it; the blonde slayer's response, however, flashed on his display in one and a half: _Geez, for a witch she looks so ordinary. No pointy hat? I'm disappointed. Yup, keep looking please. Something's definitely way off about that family. P.S: Don't change my desktop background again!_

Smiling, he hastily typed back a reply to Hanna's message and reread the woman's profile until there was an urgent knock at the door; he'd barely opened it tiredly and taken in Spencer's shaking appearance with a pleasant tingle of surprise in his stomach before she launched herself into his arms, connecting their mouths in a passionate kiss and kicking the door shut with her foot. As if on reflex, his arms went around her waist without much thought, pulling her slightly upward like he'd done the other night, reducing the height difference between them a little. He hadn't even realized how much he'd missed her taste, the way she mewled and whimpered, the way she clawed onto him as though she was drowning. It was a nice metaphor, in a way; her grip felt like a life jacket, keeping him afloat, preventing him from sinking or maybe her kisses were a pile of heavy rocks, pulling him down...he wasn't so sure. Solace, that's what it possibly was. Oblivion. Band-aid.

No.

_Fire_.

"Wait, wait, wait," Toby mumbled against her lips as she threw off her dark coat, mounting him easily, his hands at her thighs to assist her. "What's going on?"

"Are you alone?"

"Umm...yeah?"

"Bedroom."

"What?"

The brunette gave a long sigh and searched his gaze, cradling his face in her hands, her thumbs briefly stroking over his cheek bones. Then she spoke in a voice that went straight to his nether regions, "I wanna ride you until your eyes roll back."

Mind going blank instantly, the watcher gulped and was really glad that she didn't expect an answer to that, instead pressing her mouth back to his in a hurry, and on they went; he carried her through the apartment, almost tripping over his own clumsy feet as her fingernails dragged down his back from where she had managed to pull up his shirt to his shoulders, and made a sound of utter relief when they finally—_finally—_reached his bedroom. Dropping her on the unmade bed, he had no time to think this over because she was already taking off his shirt in a swift manner without breaking eye contact, unbuckling his pants and pushing them and his briefs down with her naked feet.

"Can you turn on the light? I need to see you," she whispered into his ear, guiding his hands over her body, helping him when he couldn't unbutton her blouse fast enough. It landed next to his discarded clothes; her jeans followed after he threw them on the floor, soon her underwear. All was her, surrounding him, lips and nails, teeth and tongue, and sneaky fingers, shredding the small package he'd gotten from his nightstand, taking him into her hands, weighing him in her palm. "I need to feel you."

Her eyes reminded him of the late days of fall after an scorching hot summer, the most gorgeous shade of brown, when he slid between her legs, pressing his mouth to hers and they collided like stars.

She was so beautiful beneath him, nails running along the taut muscles of his back, legs around his waist, foreheads touching and noses brushing against each other as his name kept on tumbling from her lips like a prayer, going from short gasp to loud moans to sensual whispers and back.

She was beautiful on top of him, rising and sinking like waves, head thrown back, hands steadying herself on his chest. She suddenly fell forward, then, bracing an arm on either side of his face and her curls fell around them, too, like a bizarre dark veil, blocking out the rest of the world. His arms went around her shoulders automatically, pulling up his legs a bit so that he could meet her eager thrusts more easily and her eyelids fluttered closed at the new sensation the slight change of position had brought, a delightful gasp right at his ear as her long lashes tickled his cheek.

She was even more beautiful when his fingers got lost in her messy brown hair, the other ones stroking at her lower back, drawing useless pattern, and he murmured into her skin; nothing that made any sense, really, but he meant every word just the same, and then he said her name over and over again, drawing out each syllable, and he felt her toes curl up for the second time that night, saw her knuckles turn white as her hands gripped the bed sheets beside his head, heard that quivering, almost helpless whimper, always so very quiet whenever she fell off the edge. With a dazzling grin stretching her lips, she looked into his eyes, after, her dark-browns shining, twinkling bright. Still moving against him furiously but her pace more coordinated and less desperate now, her breath was uneven on his face and before she leaned down to kiss him again, kiss him sweetly, innocently, like nothing else mattered, she whispered, "Let go." And he did.

Later, they lay next to each other silence and his head felt light and fuzzy. Her back was nestled against his chest comfortably, her brown hair spread over his outstretched arm. She'd stopped playing with his fingers a while ago, both her hands resting on top of his now, and for a small moment, he thought that she'd maybe fallen asleep until he pressed his lips to her neck and heard her happy and careless giggle.

Turning around so that they were facing each other, Spencer beamed at him and kissed the corner of his mouth before she lay back on her pillow, smile not faltering, and said, "Hi."

"Hey," he replied in a groggy tone, instinctively putting his hand on her waist and pulling her closer when she threw one leg over his hip leisurely. "Since we didn't exactly talk before...how are you?"

"I'm good," she purred, fingers lightly dancing over his arm. "Perfect, even. You?"

Toby stretched, gazing at her from under heavy eyelids. "Mmm. Same here," he responded, leaning into her palm when her hand reached his cheek. Her movements stilled abruptly, though, as his own fingers came up to touch her underarm, thumb running over soft skin, barely visible veins until it met with the scars on her wrist. Mocha eyes regarded him while he turned her hand over to inspect the two marks, gently stroking over them. They looked both fresher and redder today and somewhat deeper than they had a few days ago.

"It's not what it you think it is, I swear," she told him, holding his blues determinedly. He could see that she was extremely uncomfortable with him touching her scars and moved to pull away, only stopped by her other hand that grasped at his wrist suddenly. "Please don't look at me like I'm a total basket case."

"I wasn't thinking anything," he promised. "Do you want to tell me how you got them?"

She sighed. "Trust me. It's a long, complicated and boring story."

"Well, I got time."

"_Well_," the brunette mimicked with an eye-roll and a slight smirk. "Do _you_ want to tell me what's up with you? Don't think I didn't catch that huge frown earlier. Something's bothering you."

"It's a long, complicated and boring story," he repeated, chuckling when she glared at him. "Is this work-related, hobby-related...family-related?"

"Rule number one: it's _always_ about my family," she said with another sigh. "Are we going to continue asking each other questions neither of us feels comfortable answering? Because I could do this all day."

"Oh, me too," he answered and grinned. "Does it have something to do with your brother? You said you guys were fighting a lot..."

Spencer didn't answer at first and he saw her think hard, seemingly weighing her words as she twisted her pursed lips from one side of her face to the other. It was adorable. "Pretty much," she shrugged. "It isn't...I'm just an awful mess and I keep on making all the wrong decisions. I mean, I _know_ he means well and I know that he's got a point even if I would never admit it but..." she trailed off. "Like I said, it's a long, complicated and _really_ boring story. Anyway, what's on your mind? What happened?"

"Jenna happened," he stated darkly. A worried look in her browns, she simply stared at Toby, waiting for him to elaborate and he explained, "She took over my watcher duties. I'm officially slayerless."

For some reason, she snorted and laughed loudly. Like always, her rough snicker was contagious and he laughed along with her; it was a refreshing contrast to the heaviness that had crept into the room the moment he'd brought up her scars. "Thanks a lot. I pour my heart out to you and you just laugh at my misery," he quipped, raising one eyebrow at her.

Her hand landed on his shoulder as, to his absolute delight, another fit of giggles seized her. "No, no, no, I'm sorry, that's not why I'm laughing," she assured him. "I'm...uh...it's just...the blonde girl I met the other day, that was your slayer, wasn't it? I don't know what's she's like but the mental image of your sister, who you described as a _soul-sucking demon,_ dealing with her sass is so damn funny."

"Yeah, I guess it is," he agreed, smiling. "How do you know so much about slayers and watchers, anyway?"

That had been the wrong question to ask and he realized it when her sudden earnest gaze dropped in the direction of their joined hands and she started playing with his fingers again. "My parents," her curt reply came, voice flat, "were watchers."

"_Were?_"

"They died," she snapped. "I really don't wanna talk about this."

And she was in defensive mode in mere seconds, closing off completely and building thick walls all around her; he didn't know what to say to make it better, to go back to the lightheartedness from before so he fell silent, too, and watched her, quietly offering support by squeezing her hand. Then he merely watched her watching him when she lifted her beautiful eyes back to his before crawling even closer into him, burying her nose in his neck, arms circling his frame and he felt rather than heard her exhale soundly. "I'm just so tired," she muttered. "_So _tired."

The tension in his body he hadn't even noticed melted away in her crushing embrace and he whispered, too afraid to raise his voice and scare her off again, "Go to sleep. I can drive you to work tomorrow morning, if you want."

Spencer only raised her head and leaned up for what started as an innocent peck but transformed into a fiery kiss a beat later; it was frantic, the way she grabbed him now, a certain distraught urgency in her frenzied touch. She tasted like unshed tears, like utter powerlessness, raw, vulnerable.

He let her shove him against the mattress once more, straddling him in one elegant movement without taking her mouth off of his. Somehow, it was different than before. The searing need that consumed him, clashing with a reawakened and an all too familiar hunger was just the same but something about her was...off.

When she fell forward again, ecstatic browns locked with his blues, one of her hands snaking between their bodies and finding him, he brushed some of her locks out of her face, taking in her features. They stayed like this for a moment, just staring into each other's eyes and breathing each other in, until he eventually broke the silence, muttering, "What's wrong?"

And it hurt, and terribly so. The cloud of sadness and grief well-hidden beneath pools of brown pierced through his heart. He'd once thought that she could see right into his soul, read long-lost stories about his past, somehow locate and heal wounds he'd almost forgotten they were still bleeding, with a single glance, with one deliberate touch, but never had he found anything like that in her eyes before. Never had she willingly shown him anything like that before. "I need you," she said. "Please."

Hearing her soft plea sent shivers down his spine and he stroked her cheek before her hot mouth came crashing down onto his, tongue pressing against his lips desperately and a muffled moan somewhere in-between although he didn't know whose. It didn't matter, anyway.

When Toby put his arms around her and flipped them over, she made a noise of protest, grunting into his mouth disapprovingly. It made him chuckle against his will, her arms and legs tightly woven around his neck and middle, hips lifting ever so slightly, no doubt trying to switch positions again and regain the upper hand but he held her down, nudging her forehead with his; he placed a lazy, open-mouthed kiss on her ear, her neck, her collarbone, on her chest right above her rapidly thumping heart, then another on her stomach, leaving a wet trail as he went and pushing the quilt off of their bodies. Her breath quickened in anticipation when he slowly spread her thighs further apart, putting one smooth leg over his shoulder. Feeling her fingers comb through his hair, he peeked up at her with his lips on her knee and his thumb stroking at her hip leisurely. Her eyes were closed, head thrown back again, features soft and relaxed, chest moving up and down...and he hadn't even _really_ touched her yet.

But she must have felt his eyes on her because her lids fluttered open at once and she glanced at him confusedly. "What?" she demanded, a pink flush gracing her cheeks; he kept on staring at her with a little smirk and she fidgeted bashfully. "Can we move on? Are you done now? It's distracting."

"Mmmm...no," he replied, brushing his mouth against her inner thigh and not taking her eyes off her face, not even when she gave him an annoyed glare. "_Someone_ threw herself at me earlier so I didn't have any time to appreciate the view."

Fingernails ran over the back of his neck, digging into his skin, and then they went back into his hair, pulling at it. "_Someone_ didn't hear you complain," she countered with ease. "Either come up here or go a little farther down."

Again, he chuckled. "You're literally the most impatient and bossy person I have ever met."

"Wow. What a heartwarming compliment. You sure know how to charm a girl, Cavanaugh," she shot back, bare foot pressing against him in an attempt to pull him closer. "Come_ on_."

When he only gave her another smile, she wiggled her hips with a loud groan. A mischievous glimmer appeared in her face then, disappearing after merely half a second, and replaced by the most adorable pout he had ever seen. Oh yes, she knew exactly how to play him, big brown eyes begging as her other leg came to a rest on his shoulder, too, foot seductively brushing against his bicep. "_Toby_," she whined, accompanied by another small wiggle of her hips. "Up here or farther down. Come on. Don't be so-"

Her whine became a loud hiss, then a long-drawn-out moan, as his head dipped without warning and he got lost in her. Hands were gripping him more firmly now, holding him exactly where she wanted, one quivering leg slipping from his shoulder unceremoniously and onto the mattress, thighs threatening to fall shut, and he had to hook both of them over his arms to keep her in place. Then a foreign noise interrupted their little bubble. He couldn't tell where it came from or what it was, not when she was writhing under his ministrations, gasping and mewling her approval in the most delicate way. After a few more moments, however, she finally seemed to notice the sound, too, because he felt her freeze and sit up on her elbows with a very puzzled look.

That made him stop. "You hear that?" he asked her, licking his lips. "What is that?"

"The Antichrist," she answered gloomily, dangling over the side of the bed until she emerged with her cell phone and an irritated grunt that mirrored his. "It's three in the morning on a school night, you little devil. I hope you have a _good_ excuse for still being up and that excuse better not be a frat party," she snarled into her phone, looking at him apologetically as he crawled up her body and lay down on his previous spot with a sigh. "Wait, slow down, you did _what? _When did this happen? Are you kidding me? Of course I'm angry because as per usual, _I_ will be the one who has to—I swear to god, if you hang up right now, I'll _bury_ you alive—no, don't tell—what? Yeah, I know...uh-huh...yeah, no, that's actually a good idea, I'm impressed. Go do that. Yeah. I'll be there in forty, I think. Yeah. _Yes_. Later."

Leaning her head back against the wall with a groan, she lowered her phone, then threw it off the bed angrily. All of the sudden, she looked so small again, so small and immensely, unusually exhausted, shoulders slumping down, eyes losing focus, and all of it, it looked and felt familiar somehow, as if he had seen it before, as if he had experienced it with someone else not too long ago, although he couldn't place a finger on it. What he had seen in her eyes earlier, a small twinkle buried deep, was now settling all over her face, mixed with something that looked like...defeat.

Carefully, he sat up, drawing her into a half-hug and tried not to flinch when she flung herself at his side with much more strength than he'd thought she possessed. He held her there, just held here, while her breath evened, stroking her forearm with his thumb. "Like I said," her muffled voice came, "I'm an awful, complicated mess. I'm so sorry."

"No, you're not," Toby said in a stern tone, resisting the urge to drop a kiss to her temple. "I gotta ask though...the Antichrist? Why would you save someone under that flattering name?"

Spencer scoffed. "If you knew my sister at all, you wouldn't be surprised why we call her that."

So she had a sister, too. A younger one, most likely. At least that's what he'd gathered from the way they had spoken to each other. An older brother and a little sister. He briefly wondered whether her weird conversation with _the Antichrist_ was in any way related to the fight she'd told him she was having with her older brother but before he could ask her, she unwound herself from his grasp, wiping at her cheeks hastily and the sight of her salty tears made his heart clench. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she immediately responded, feigning a smile. "Just a little tired. I, uh, I better get going. The Antichrist needs me."

The brunette gave him no time to react to that, instead getting on her feet and picking up her clothes he'd thrown on the ground carelessly after successfully getting her out of them earlier. Toby stood up, too, pulling on his underwear and pants, and reaching for his shirt. She was faster, though.

"Can I keep this? Thanks," she asked after she'd already slipped into it, then stared up at him while he raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Look, I know we were kind of in the middle of something and I'm really, _really_, sorry that I-"

He cut her off with a kiss, mainly to calm her anxious ramblings. "It's okay. Stop apologizing," he said after they broke apart. "Do you want me to drive you?"

She shook her head, avoiding his eyes. "No, it's alright, my car is actually parked around the corner."

"Let me walk you, then," he responded. "Come on, it's just a walk. I didn't ask you to marry me."

It managed to make her smile and he felt proud of himself. "Okay."

After he got himself something different to wear out of his drawer and she stuffed her blouse into her purse, they made their way downstairs, neither speaking up. Spencer was gripping to his arm in a very childlike fashion now as if she didn't want to go and he noted that something inside him didn't want her to leave either. God, what had he gotten himself into? He'd only known her a few short months and already was the mere thought of being apart from her gnawing at his insides, making him queasy. When they reached her car, they awkwardly stood by the passenger door for a couple of seconds.

"Well..."

"So..."

She met his eyes with a warm smile and chuckled. "Goodnight," she said, placing a chaste kiss on his mouth that was over before he'd fully registered it. Then she moved around to the driver's door.

It wasn't until then that he suddenly remembered something. "Hey, wait up," he called. "How do you know my last name?"

Seeming confused, she stilled and furrowed her brows. "What?"

"You called me Cavanaugh. _Earlier_," Toby added when she continued to frown at him. That, in turn, only earned him a smirk. "How'd you know that?"

"Oh, I guess I saw it outside your apartment," Spencer offered with a shrug. "Or maybe you told me? I don't know."

"Yeah, probably," he replied and shrugged his shoulders, too. "Goodnight. Drive safe."

She hesitated for a moment and put on her thinking face again, eyes boring into his, searching for something, but in a flash, her walls were up once more, and she merely gave him a short nod, got into the driver's sear and started her car.

Sighing, Toby stared after her until her black Ford disappeared in the night, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. He didn't know if she had lied to him, and more importantly, what _else_ she'd lied about before but he know that she was doing it now, for some unknown reason he didn't get and probably never would, not when she constantly kept on running away like a wild animal whenever he got too close to her. The worst thing about all of it was that one part didn't even care about the secrets lurking behind her doe eyes; as long as he had her, even if it was only a small fraction of her soul she was willing to share with him, he was content. He rubbed his forehead.

To put it in the words of his stubborn slayer: he was _so_ screwed.

* * *

><p>She was shaking uncontrollably, every fiber of her being wide-awake, <em>alert<em>; tiny shimmering beads gathered upon her forehead and then ran down, down, down, disappearing in the valley of her chest where her heart beat manically against her ribs. She couldn't...she couldn't breathe. She was going to suffocate. Holding on to the bedpost, she gripped it, gripped it hard, until she heard the soft _crack_ of wood breaking in her grasp and felt a sudden bolt of pain as the material cut her skin deep but it was not enough, not enough, not enough...oh _god_, she couldn't breathe. Why couldn't she breathe?

"No, sweetie, don't do that. You're hurting yourself," a warm voice by her ear said. Someone took her now bleeding hand from the wood, placed it into their own and didn't pull back, not even when she dug her nails into their palm. It hurt. But the pain was not enough. Not enough. Never enough.

"She's having a panic attack," a more familiar person answered in a both shrill and anxious tone. Hanna saw Emily standing at the end of the bed she lay in, worriedly chewing her lip with a frown. "Why is she having a panic attack again? I thought your oh-so-special potion would help her calm down."

The witch didn't say anything and only gave the watcher a sharp look, obviously having noticed the brunette's dripping sarcasm but seemingly remembering that now was not the time for yet another one of their fights, before she turned back to the girl, eyes sad. "It did help her yesterday. I don't know why-"

"Because I didn't drink it," Hanna said. "It made me so numb and empty again and I want to feel...I _need_ to feel...something. _Anything_. Don't make me drink it_. Please._"

"Shh, it's okay, no one's forcing you to," Emily spoke and sat down on the other side of the slayer, caressing her cheek and smiling a bit when Hanna relaxed into the watcher's touch. "What are we going to do about...you know?"

Her question was directed at the dark-haired, tired-looking woman on Hanna's right, a very soft, almost inaudible mutter as if she didn't want the trembling girl to hear but she heard it, anyway; her heartbeat, that had finally managed to go back to normal, sped up immediately, exhausted eyes entirely fixated on the tiny witch who didn't answer straight away. She was absentmindedly toying with her wedding ring, the thumb and middle finger of her right hand twisting it round and round nervously. Hanna only gave a small sob and both brunette women sighed, exchanging a long look with each other.

"I don't know. I really don't know. This is _your_ mess, Em," Aria then replied with a shrug. Her words were unusually heavy and mean but her tone was not. "Don't expect me to fix it."

"My mess?" Emily echoed in a furious whisper. "_My _mess?"

The other woman shrugged again, her small hand once more firmly intertwined with Hanna's, trying to make her stop pulling at her own, long hair. "You sent them there, didn't you?"

"Are you serious? I didn't know what was going to happen! Aren't _you_ the wit-"

Emily's angry response was cut short when the door opened and Jason DiLaurentis stepped inside, not acknowledging the women and walking to the bed where he put a blanket around his sister and briefly kissed both her wet cheeks. Shoving his arms under Hanna's shivering body, he then lifted her from the mattress and cradled her against his chest protectively. "We're leaving," he told the other two.

"What? Where are you going?! She needs to rest, Jason!"

"It's in the middle of the night!"

But the blond man simply ignored their ongoing protests and exited the bedroom, carrying the slayer down the stairs swiftly, both watcher and witch following him in equally fast steps; when he reached the front door, however, the tinier dark-haired woman pulled on his arm, forcing him to spin around. He did and flinched upon seeing her standing there, hands in her hips, brows furrowed angrily, suddenly looking ten times scarier than before. _Oh_, Hanna thought, a realization dawning on her just as the man gave a sigh she remembered too well from Mrs. Rodriguez' husband. The _woman_ was her sister-in-law.

"What do you mean you're leaving?" she inquired.

Jason rolled his eyes. "Not me. _We_ are," he explained, shaking his head when his wife opened her mouth again. "No, Aria, we are not discussing this now. Pack your stuff. Get the kid. We're leaving."

"Are you crazy? Where are we going? We just came here!"

Again, he brushed her off and turned to Emily who lingered near the sofa, arms crossed tightly. "I don't know how many times I have to repeat it but you are a part of this family, Em. Don't think you're not coming with us. You are. Can you wake the kid and get her dressed? Since my lovely wife doesn't-"

Throwing up her hands, Aria groaned. "You know what? Your _lovely wife_ would like to know why she has to leave her new house in the middle of the night. What are we running from? I thought we were-"

"I was at the hospital. He is dead."

Three words, three simple words spoken through gritted teeth, and the whole room fell silent. Hanna froze, lifting her head from her brother's shoulder but he merely put his hand in her hair and pushed her back down carefully, rocking back and forth on his heels as though he was trying to sooth a small child.

"I've had enough of this slayer bullshit," Jason continued, jaw tensed. "I'm done. Have you looked at her? She isn't eating or sleeping or even leaving her room without bursting into tears. My eighteen-year-old little sister is obsessed with guilt and self-hatred when she should be worrying about college. I can't watch this anymore. I can't put her through this life any longer. She isn't cut out for slaying."

The watcher pinched the bridge of her nose exasperatedly. "She was chosen for a reason."

"I don't fucking care! Then _make_ her un-chosen!" he bellowed. "Tell the Council that she's out! Work your magic! Get the slayer powers out of her and let her be a normal girl again!"

"But she was never a normal girl, Jason," Aria interjected wearily. "Because even before she got activated as a slayer, she was a potential. You still remember that, right? She was always different than regular people. She was always special and she still is. She will get better, you have to believe in her. She is strong. Stronger than all of us combined. Like Em said, the universe chose her for a reason."

A sarcastic laugh escaped the man's lips as he carried Hanna to the sofa and sat her down; he flicked his fingers in front of her face a couple of times, the slayer not reacting once, eyes unfocused and empty.

"Well, the universe screwed up, alright? She isn't going to get better because there's no one in there."

Although she didn't understand why, the trio exhaled in relief when Hanna shot the blond man a glare and snapped, "Thank you, Jason. I may be crazy but I can hear you just fine, you know."

He chuckled, squatting before her, and cupped her cheeks. "There's my favorite glare. I missed seeing it. So, champ, where do you wanna go? You liked New York, right? Wanna go back to New York?"

"No, we can't go back to New York. My old coven's there," Aria remarked from her spot on the coffee table. "Besides, being so close to the Hellmouth is nice for us. I don't understand why we can't stay-"

"He is dead," Jason interrupted her harshly and Hanna saw Emily wince, "and Jenna Cavanaugh knows what happened. It's only a matter of time before she tells the Council about it. We have to go. _Now_."

An uneasy beat passed, then another. With a heart-wrenching whimper, the slayer buried her face in her hands and leaned forward until she was in her brother's arms once more, whispering apologies into his skin as he rested his chin on her head and hugged her tighter to his frame. The witch wordlessly picked up the little girl that had come down the stairs only in her pink pajamas, rubbing her eyes sleepily. The watcher was silent, too, wiggling her foot impatiently as she leaned against the wall, lost in thought.

Then the back door opened, the one leading to the kitchen, and Hanna felt Jason tense up before an inappropriately happy voice called out, "Knock knock!"

The blond man was on his feet in less than a second and his eyes screamed murder. Before he vanished down the hall, he mumbled, "I'm going to strangle her" under his breath and this time, Aria didn't try to stop him, only giving Emily a very passive, uninterested shrug and covering the little girl's ears she was holding in her arms. With a horrified expression, Emily rushed after the demon hunter and then there were screams and shouts coming from the kitchen, curses and threats and someone blaming someone else and Emily begging Jason to stop and dishes breaking...

"_Hanna_."

The slayer frowned in confusion. No, that wasn't her name. Not even close.

"Wake up," the same annoying voice repeated and when Hanna's eyelids slowly opened, she was in the backseat of a car, a red-haired girl grinning next to her, Jenna and Shana sitting in front, mid-talk. _Huh_.

The dark-haired woman took the purse her slayer handed her, pulled out something Hanna couldn't make out in the semi-darkness, then she flipped down the sun visor, quickly checking her appearance in the vanity mirror and reapplying her red lipstick. "I'll be back in a few. Stay in the car," she ordered.

Now somewhat puzzled, Hanna looked out of the window; the car was parked in front of a cheap and rundown apartment complex she'd never seen before. Where the hell were they? Her gaze went back to Jenna's green eyes that were watching her from the mirror. "What are we doing here?" she questioned.

"You are waiting in the car, Sleeping Beauty, and I will be back in a few," Jenna answered patiently, unbuckled her seat belt and opened the door. "Feel free to listen to some music while I'm gone."

Hanna cleared her throat. "Hang on, Jenn...uh, I mean _ma'am_. Khaleesi of House Cavanaugh, Mother of Dragons, rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms...I have a ques...May I ask you a question? _Ma'am_?"

The woman chuckled lightly. "Yes, you may, Hanna."

"How do you know Miss Fields and the DiLaurentis family?" Jenna raised her brows. "I-I mean I was just wondering...because Tob..._Mr. Cavanaugh_ knew some of the other watchers in Seattle since he did his training with them. Did you do your training with Miss Fields?"

"No, I met Emmy and her girl through my old slayer," the watcher responded, turning to Shana who was staring out of the car window with a hard facial expression, "What is it? Is someone out there?"

"Vampires," the girl hissed. At that, the red-haired Baby Slayer next to Hanna made a happy squeal-like noise but fell silent on Jenna's look. "I can feel it. Two of them."

Hanna followed her gaze and saw...well, _nothing. _Nothing interesting at least. Neither could she feel the vamps Shana was talking about. The only thing she felt was hungry and lonely. But mostly hungry.

"Yeah...I can feel them too," the blonde piped up, nodding.

Finally getting out of the car, Jenna rolled her eyes and ran a through her hair before she straightened up and began walking to the apartment complex. "Go kill them. Ten minutes, Shana. If it takes any longer, you're coming back here. Understood?"

When she finally disappeared and the three slayers hopped out of the car, too, stretching after sitting for so long, Shana immediately spun to Hanna and said, "You watch the girl. I'll be right back."

The blonde slayer shrugged; she was sore in all the wrong places, immensely exhausted from the long day and the lack of food was making her slightly grouchy. All she wanted was to walk around for a little bit to regain the feeling in her feet, hear her boys' voices through her phone and then go back to sleep, preferably for a good eight to fifteen hours. Apparently, Shana took her non-answer as some sort of silent agreement because she took off towards the woods in an instant, stake in one hand.

The Baby Slayer didn't do the same, unfortunately, and instead followed the older girl around. It was sort of annoying. _She_ was sort of annoying with her liveliness and her unwavering enthusiasm.

"I actually thought Mr. Cavanaugh would go on patrol with us since he's your teacher. That's why I begged my watcher to let me accompany you," she said and giggled. And then she blushed. Oh no.

Hanna's blues widened. "_Eew_. How old are you?"

"Fourteen."

"Eeew. Fourteen? That's gross." The older slayer shuddered, sticking out her tongue in disgust, then shook it off. "Hey, kid, can you do me a favor and wait by the car or something? I kinda wanna be alone right now. Sorry."

Surprisingly, the younger girl didn't seem to mind. "Sure, no prob. It was really awesome tonight, by the way. Thanks for letting me tag along."

Hanna smiled softly and walked a couple of feet ahead so that she was now standing in the shadow of a small tree; she could still see the redhead from there, innocently leaning against the passenger door and busy with her cell phone, as well as the apartment complex Jenna had disappeared into. Good. So they wouldn't be able to tell _who_ or _what_ she was talking about if the brunette watcher and her bulldog came back. She quickly pulled out her phone out of her jeans pocket and dialed Toby's number. It rang once, twice, three times...four times...five times...why wasn't he picking up? The blonde squinted at her phone. It _was_ late, almost three, in fact, but her watcher was a light sleeper, anyway, jumping awake at the tiniest sound. She tried again but again, no one answered. Not much luck with her boyfriend either but at least she got to his voice mail. Sighing, she closed her eyes and rested her head against the trunk.

"Hey, it's me. Hope you and your buds had a nice day at the Hellmouth. Miss you," she spoke into her phone, "and that's not the only reason I called but you probably already guessed that. Someone died, a male someone...I mean, not _now_, obviously, but a man died back when the dead girl was alive and I think she might have, um, killed him, by accident. Or maybe her brother. I don't know. Can you look into it for me? Please? Jenna's all avoid-y and C's not answering his phone and I'm just-"

"_To save your message, press 3. To record your message again, press_-"

Groaning, she pressed around on her phone, then dialed Caleb once more. "That witch, she was still alive and kicking so this must have happened before 2008. He was brought into the hospital and died there. This all happened close to the Hellmouth. Please call me back when you get this."

Calling her watcher and her boyfriend had taken her maybe five or six minutes, and she had let the younger girl out of her sight for three of it, tops. But when her eyes snapped open and she turned so that she was facing Jenna's dark jeep once again, the red-haired and bubbly Baby Slayer was gone.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: [drops hints] [drops some more hints] [trips over them] [knocks over a table]  
><em>- <em>Me while writing this chapter, probably

Hi! *Ali D voice* _Did you miss me?_ I'm actually very unhappy with this one. Yeah, don't say it, I know, it's like, _ugh, Ray, get a grip_, _lemme play you a sad song on the world's smallest violin_ but honestly, I almost didn't post it because I tend to go a little Hermione Granger on my stuff sometimes. Still, I hope you lovelies enjoyed at least some parts of it. Also, yooo Elena, if you're still reading this and remember our first conversation about this fic and Jason: the Jaria is entirely your fault js.

**Please** be patient and stay with me, guys. There are some things I plan on dragging out for a while but the mystery of the dead slayer definitely isn't one of them, pinky promise. There will be a couple of clues in the next two chapters but in chapter nine, you'll finally find out everything you need to know.

(By the way, do you know how hard it is to write porn and make it sound all poetic and classy? Kudos to every single author who manages to do that because I can't without chuckling. Anyway, yet another thing: I know the whole fandom's hatin' on the Queen of Birds right now and she probably kind of deserves it maybe...but I swear that she's got a damn good reason for being such a meanie slash asshole to Em in _my _story. And Emily's got a very good reason for being so snappy too. You'll have your "_Oooooh__!_" moment, like, real soon and it won't take you 5+ seasons to get there. Trust me.)

**Reviews!**

**Guest #1: **Thank you so much! Well, I'm not entirely sure if there's an official guide, haha, but on the show, a close relationship between a slayer and _her_ watcher—be it platonic or romantic—is frowned upon by the Council and as you can see, it's pretty much the same in my universe. Caleb compared the situation to other people with normal jobs dating their colleagues a few chapters ago: being _way_ too close to your boss is usually a no-go. I mean, people still do it but...you know. Hanna's and Caleb's relationship isn't that much of a big deal because he isn't _her_ watcher but since both of them are fairly new in Columbus and he's still in his training, they're judged more harshly. I guess a slayer like Trina or a watcher like Emily would get off easy for dating one of the school's students or teachers. No rules for witches and watchers though, or watchers and watchers, or watchers and regular people...

**Emz28**: Thank you! I know right? Something's off about Spencer. Homegirl definitely needs to tell us what's up. ;)

**Guest #2**: Who knows? Well, I know but it's still a secret. For now. Haha, thank you!

**LeahCavanaugh**: And you made mine! Thanks!

**Guest #3**: Wow, I really liked your theories. Can't say anything about your other guesses but you were absolutely right about one thing. So cool! Thanks!

**Guest Number One**: I saw your review while I was editing this chapter so we're most definitely connected in an otherworldly way, honey. *hearteyesemoji* I probably shouldn't spend so much time thinking about the sex lives of my favorite fictional pairings but I'm pretty sure that they like to switch around a lot. Another thing I'm certain of, and no one will convince me otherwise, is that Spence's more aggressive in bed than Tobes. Yes, love my girls! Their next interaction is in chapter ten and I actually wrote a pretty interesting Hanna/Spencer scene the other day so there's more coming up soon. Well, that guy's clearly my worst enemy now BUT even though I don't know him or the rest of your story, I don't think he was just "being nice". Obviously, I'm not a dating expert or anything, but if someone's trying to be close to you, they clearly like you. I mean, I don't know if he, like, _likes_ you or if he likes you (wow, that sounds like a Hanna-ism) but there's some feelings there IMHO. Don't give up, dude. He's still on your mind, that's gotta mean something. Plus, he's cute. Are y'all still taking to each other? Girl, don't be sorry. We _are_ soulmates, remember? Yes, yes, yes, THANK YOU for sorting Hanna into Gryffindor. Sometimes people say she's a 'puff and I'm like, whoa, what the fuck, are we even watching the same show? And yes to all of your other choices too. Pretty sure that early-series Spencer would end up in Slytherin but late-series Spencer would be a total Gryffindor. I think Aria's a Ravenclaw and Ali...god. Sometimes I think she'd end up in Gryffindor because she admires the girls' loyalty and courage so much and lbr, people need to own up to the Peter Pettigrews of their fandom. Other times I remember that diary entry about Emily and "power" and I'm like, nah, son, you're a snake. For me, it all depends on where I sort Spencer since they're literally two sides of the same coin. If I put Spence in Gryffindor, then Ali's in Slytherin, if I put Spencer in Slytherin, then Ali's a Gryffindor. OOOOH, I WANNA READ IT! WHERE CAN I READ IT? IT SOUNDS AWESOME! TELL ME MORE! (That's me being excited, not screaming, by the way.) Ugh, don't talk to me about that, PLL's writing is such a serious mess right now, I literally can't. Did they make everyone so damn unlikeable on purpose or...? I've been enjoying this season a lot more than S4 but I feel like the writers are destroying the core four (five?) and I _really_ don't understand what's happening with Haleb right now. If they wanted Hanna to spiral this season, I wish they'd brought back her eating disorder instead. Not because I _want_ Hanna to go through that but at least that would have been in-character and a plausible reaction to Alison's return. I'm still not sure about Ali but Sasha's slaying it and that's beautiful. Dang, I'm a multishipper so this is hard but I guess... Spike/Buffy, Regina/Emma, Spence/Toby, Callie/Arizona, Angel/Cordelia, Brittany/Santana, Ziva/Tony, Aurora/Mulan, Emily/Happiness and Darla/Drusilla. You? And my favorite celebrity couple? Um, duh, Beysus and Jay-Z 5ever. Wait, do you, like, go to college on mars? Why does your fall semester start in August? On a Friday? Sending you lotsa love and positive vibes though. Have a great first day!

**Guest #4**: Seriously, I have the best readers, ever. Y'all always manage to make me blush so freaking hard, sometimes I have to step away from the computer and take a breath to calm down. Thank you so much, cutie! Aww, no, don't say that, I lovelovelove reading predictions and theories even though I never know how to respond to them because I'm scared I'll end up spoiling everything, haha. Gah, I wish I had thought about Veronica as the pregnant witch but honestly, it didn't even cross my mind so obviously, you're the true genius here. Oh man, I totally get that. Vampires never scared me but there's this one episode of Buffy ("Hush") with a group of demons called the Gentlemen...like, I first saw it when I was really young, seven or eight, I don't know, but they still scare the crap out of me. And I'm almost twenty-one now so that's always a little embarrassing to admit, you know, especially because the special effects on Buffy aren't that great. I'm curious, is it just vampires that scare you or are demons on that list too?

Thank y'all for reading! See you next week!


	7. Chapter 7

**Part One**: The Cruel Sister  
><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

It was strange that no one at school seemed to care much about the missing Baby Slayer, considering that everyone _knew_ that there was this mysterious and probably dangerous creature walking the streets of Columbus; a mysterious and dangerous creature Hanna suspected to be behind the disappearance of...Marissa or Michelle or Madison or whatever her name was. According to her watcher, though, it was not uncommon for the red-haired girl to run away from home and stay gone for a few days or so before she came back again, murmuring halfhearted apologies under her breath, and while that could have been the truth, the blonde slayer couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was up. Like, _real_ bad. She overheard a phone call between Jenna and someone she couldn't make out a couple of days after they'd informed the school about their patrol; her temporary and highly annoying watcher spluttering curse words and angrily hissing into her phone about a slayer—her _actual_ words were "that fucking bitch"—of the Hellmouth squad in Cleveland who had gone missing some months ago and that, in turn, only made Hanna's anxiety worse. One anonymous demon, one dead girl, who now kept on haunting the blonde's really confusing dreams with her memories on a nightly basis, and two missing slayers. And yet, none of the school's watchers thought it would be wise to finally look into it or maybe even contact the Watcher's Council.

She fully understood that most watchers weren't like her Toby; to most of those sleazy assholes, slayers were just a mere weapon against the creatures of the night and the big bad villains they were too scared to fight themselves, and one dead girl wasn't a big deal, one dead girl meant that there were more than five hundred girls just like her who could take over her job anytime. To most of them, slayers were replaceable...although, Hanna thought with a slight scoff as she put her wallet back into her purse, that was totally _something_-ism. Still, she felt as though they should have been at least a little worried about the situation even if _they_ spent most of their nights tucked in safely in their beds, far away from the monsters they feared so much that they made their slayers chase after them instead.

"I know this is going to sound _so_ charming psychopath of me but damn..." Confused, Hanna looked up from the white takeout boxes she was carrying in her arms; a friendly-looking girl, probably her age or maybe even somewhat younger, stood in front of her with an almost shy smirk, holding the door open for the blonde as they left the restaurant together. "...your shoes are just..._ugh_, so cute! I'm so jealous!"

Hanna beamed at her. "Oh, thanks! They're super pretty and really comfy, too," she replied politely, pointing at them with her unoccupied hand. "I got them, like, two weeks ago and you're literally the first person who noticed it!"

"I've been looking for a pair as cute as yours for ages," the girl sighed wistfully, a pout growing on her pretty face, then she met the slayer's blue eyes again and smiled broadly. She lightly shrugged her shoulders while doing so. It looked odd. "I'm sorry for holding you up but I actually have one tiny question...I'm kinda new in town and I wanted to surprise an old friend. I heard she likes to go to this bar a lot...and according to my phone, it's supposed to be..._somewhere_...around here..." She spun around in a lazy circle, arms stretched, and giggled when Hanna gave an amused laugh. "I guess I got lost."

"Um, yeah, I know there's one at the end of the street. They're freakishly anal about IDs though. Good luck getting in."

Again, a smile fondled her cheeks, her gaze fixated on the blonde's and Hanna felt a weirdly familiar tingle in the back of her neck, light hairs standing up, similar to the sensation that rushed through her body whenever Caleb kissed her right there, on the very same spot...only slightly different. No, _way_ different. Unpleasant. A bit alarming, even. "Oh, honey, I'm flattered," the girl eventually said. "But trust me, I'm older than I look."

Not even noticing that her whole body had tensed up, Hanna took an instinctive step back and frowned at her. "I'm sorry...I just feel as if...have we met before?"

Dark eyes widened in interest and the girl inhaled soundly, yet again regarding the blonde slayer for a very long moment and Hanna, in turn, stifled the sudden urge to flinch, the young woman's penetrating stare making her sort of uncomfortable. "No, I don't think so," she then said, tilting her head like a curious puppy. "I would definitely remember you if we did. You have a great sense of style...and _ugh_, those shoes. Love 'em." She turned, long hair whipping around in the wind. "Enjoy your takeout!"

Hanna looked after her as she walked down the street, typing away on her phone, and when the girl finally disappeared in the darkness, the blonde rolled her eyes, deciding that some humans were much, _much_ creepier than all of the scariest and most brutal demons in the world combined, and slowly headed back to Toby's and her...well, _just_ Toby's apartment.

Naturally, her two favorite boys were in the same position she'd left them a good thirty minutes ago and she couldn't say that it surprised her. Of course, neither of them liked to admit it out loud and they always pretended to be _above_ it, always pretended not to be like the rest of those stuffy watchers in the Council but they were actually extremely cute and massive nerds when it came to their jobs; although he'd tried to keep cool and only shrugged his shoulders in a "Yeah I guess that's great or whatever" kind of way, she was sure that Caleb had once cried internal tears of joy when she bought him this ancient book on the Old Ones from eBay last month. Toby wasn't any better. Sometimes she suspected that he enjoyed writing those boring articles, journal entries and essays he always complained so much about.

She put the takeout boxes on the floor beside the huge sofa and took in the scene before her. The watchers were hunched over a pile of large and dusty books, two laptops buzzing on the small coffee table, a few empty mugs here and there around the room, and something that smelled like...like...

"Okay, why does our apartment smell like cheap perfume, _boss?_" Hanna inquired, abruptly turning to her dear mentor with a scowl who—completely unconvincingly—pretended not to have heard her.

Caleb raised one hand sheepishly. "Um, that would be me," he answered, looking up from his laptop to meet her eyes. "I broke one of those air freshener things earlier. Sorry."

The blonde shook her head and sat down on the empty spot next to her boyfriend, quickly squeezing his thigh in greeting, and then suspiciously sniffing the air. "No, that's not...it literally smells like..."

"So...food?" Toby interrupted her with a _way_ too cheerful smile. Narrowing her eyes at him for a second, she wordlessly took the white box and chopsticks he handed her. "Has Jenna tried to call you?"

She picked at her food absentmindedly as the two men started eating theirs. "Nope. I doubt she even noticed me going out because she's either on her laptop or her phone all the freaking time," Hanna stated and rolled her eyes. "I swear, C, your sister's, like, a total ball of anxiety and drama right now. Or maybe that's how she always is, I don't know and I don't care. Anyway, something's making her _really_ nervous."

"If this is about the missing slayer, I would be, too. 'cuz these Cleveland girls? They're really...one of a kind," Caleb said, blowing air out between his teeth.

"What do you mean?"

Humming, Caleb lowered his chopsticks and stared up at the ceiling, thinking hard. "Don't be mad but _all_ slayers tend to be a little rough and intense. The Cleveland squad is kind of...different than the girls at school, though. I've only met one girl and the team apparently consists of nine but, I don't know, none of them have, like, a real watcher? I mean, there are two watchers and one Sunnydale slayer playing leaders, sort of, but the girls over there are pretty much alone. Somehow, I don't think she went _missing_, I think she ran away," he replied, shrugging a bit. "I guess that's what being so close to the Hellmouth does to you. Most of them were dumped there by their old watchers after they resigned from their cases. And, what do you know, little Miss Jenna Cavanaugh left three of her old slayers there."

It seemed as if they'd formed some sort of super romantic bromance while she was away since Toby merely continued eating but Hanna frowned at her boyfriend, confused. "What are you thinking?"

"Like I said, they're really different. The one I talked to, Kayla or something, flat-out told me that she almost murdered her ex-boyfriend because he cheated on her and that's why her ex-watcher sent her to the Hellmouth. Because having a bunch of crazy slayers protect the Mouth of Hell is just what the world needs," the dark-haired man answered with another shrug, silently offering Hanna some of his food when he caught her yearning gaze. "I've heard a lot about Miss Cavanaugh and she's really impressive but she's also..." he trailed off.

"A douchbaguette?" Hanna suggested.

"A soul-sucking demon?" Toby asked.

"...a bit of a _handful_," Caleb continued, ignoring their remarks. "Seriously, I said her name once and Kayla wouldn't stop ranting about her. Doesn't matter if it's one of _her_ old slayers who ran away because the whole Cleveland team seems to hate her. I mean, crazy slayers with a grudge? I think Miss Cavanaugh has a good reason to be nervous. I would be, too."

The blonde snickered. "Good. Hope my insane sister slayer finds Cruella De Vil and teaches her a serious lesson. Karma's a bitch," she merely responded, put the empty box on the coffee table, along with her chopsticks, and settled back against the sofa. "Anyway, enough of my _temporary_ watcher who is still my _temporary_ watcher even though a certain person, let's call him Tobias, said he would handle it..." Her mentor opened his mouth but as always, she just waved him off. "What did you find out?

Caleb exchanged a quick look with Toby who cleared his throat and said, "Well...we made a chart."

Both men suddenly seemed so enthusiastic and excited, as though they'd been waiting for that question, that the girl had to bite her bottom lip to keep her amused laugh from escaping. "You made a _what_?"

"A chart," Caleb simply repeated, leaning forward and pulling his laptop onto his legs. Then he moved his cursor around and clicked a couple of folders until a colorful graphic appeared on the screen.

Toby stood up from the armchair and walked over to the couple. "Actually...it's more of a timeline."

Nodding distractedly, the younger man scratched at his chin and turned his head to his girlfriend slightly. "2003: dead girl gets activated as a slayer. 2005: Miss Emily Fields completes her training and becomes dead girl's second watcher, after her first one dies of cancer," he explained to her, moving the white cursor over the matching black letters and dates on the image. "Same year, dead girl becomes the slayer of Columbus. 2006: dead girl's family moves to Cleveland..."

"Wow, you guys are really enjoying this," Hanna mumbled, eying them as a grin grew on her boyfriend's face, the exact same grin that was now on Toby's lips, too. "And to think I was scared you two total geeks wouldn't get along..."

"Sometime between 2006 and 2008, a male someone dies, most likely in Cleveland, and dead girl's family freaks out. We don't know why but it's probably Jenna-related. Then, in October of 2007, Mrs. Aria Montgomery—or, to be more accurate, _DiLaurentis—_finishes her training as watcher..." Caleb went on and nodded again when Hanna gave the men an astonished look. "...and wants to become the mentor of an unknown Cleveland slayer. The Council declines because of undisclosed reasons and gives the girl to Miss Jenna Cavanaugh instead. Late 2008: the witch goes missing. Fast forward to 2014...dead girl goes on patrol with her brother and watcher and dies at Evergreen Cemetery, after a vampire attacks her."

"Then _we_ move to Columbus and you get your first, uh, gift," Toby chimed in. "Around that time, Jenna and Shana arrive in Ohio, too. A few weeks later, a second message follows, found by Katrina Wallace at Evergreen...and then you receive a letter with a photograph of the witch."

They fell silent, watching her expectantly, and the blonde slayer sighed. "That's all? Thanks a lot. You wasted, like, two minutes of my life. Couldn't you just have said that you found nothing new?"

"This would all be a lot easier if your slayer dreams were actually helpful," Toby muttered.

Hanna gasped, offended. "Excuse me? I'm not a Magic 8-Ball, okay?" she grunted. "It's not _my_ fault-"

Her boyfriend clicked something on his laptop and as the white cursor danced across the screen, he mock-coughed to stop their bickering and get their attention back to the actual conversation. "Look, we've been thinking and then, um, Mr. Cavanaugh said that there has to be a reason why all of this leads back to the Hellmouth and Cleveland. Miss Cavanaugh staying there for _a month_ before she showed up at school, the DiLaurentis family living there until the witch disappeared...and now that missing Cleveland slayer..."

"And there are three people who _definitely_ know what's happening...and that's Jenna, who won't talk, that demon hunter, who wasn't much of a help either..." Toby began.

A dramatic click later, as if they'd practiced this before she came back, a photograph appeared on Caleb's display; it showed a younger Miss Fields, a considerably _happier_ Miss Fields, next to Jason DiLaurentis who sported an equally cheerful grin, and, in-between their spread arms, another dark-haired woman—the witch—with her face in a slight grimace as though she'd been giggling when the picture was taken. "And Miss Fields...who I think is gonna crack under the weight of her secrets _real_ soon because she spent the first night of our little class trip drunk and crying," Caleb concluded.

* * *

><p>Toby knew it was wrong. Investigating a person who'd been nothing but incredibly warm and friendly to both him and Hanna was most definitely wrong and felt immensely awful, especially if she was as damaged as Caleb had said. At this point, however, blonde slayer, worn-out watcher and boyfriend were at a loss. There had to be <em>something<em> they were overlooking, something they were missing, forgetting; an explanation so obvious that it had flown right past them...he sighed loudly as he walked over to Emily's office, standing there awkwardly for a few long beats and trying to talk himself out of going in and...doing what exactly? Asking her invasive questions about her personal life and her dead slayer? He couldn't do this. He couldn't just use her like that and anyway, why had they even decided on sending him to talk to Emily if Caleb was the better choice, given that he was her student? When his phone vibrated against his thigh, he took it out and glanced at the new text message. _You better not come back with some half-assed and cryptic answers, C, I mean_ it, Hanna wrote. Rolling his eyes, he made a mental note to reply later and took in a deep breath.

But his fist froze mid-air when the door unexpectedly opened and his sister stood before him, her usual holier-than-thou sneer plastered over her face. Her green eyes narrowed down at her younger brother for a second or so as though she was not pleased with running into him, then she abruptly turned her head to look over her left shoulder at Emily. "It was nice talking to you," she said in that sugary sweet voice, the one that made him cringe inwardly, and then she squeezed past Toby without another word, heels clicking as she made a sharp right turn at the end of the hallway. Raising his brows, he gazed after her, momentarily distracted until Emily made a sniffing noise and he spun around.

The watcher looked miserable. Her shiny hair that normally framed her face in waves was pulled back in a ponytail, her skin ashen with utter exhaustion, colorful nail polish peeled off almost completely, dark eyes blank; she looked as if she hadn't properly eaten or slept in days, maybe weeks or even months. So Caleb Rivers had been right after all. Toby knew grief—nauseating grief, crushing grief, life-sucking, soul-devouring grief—but whatever she was going through, whatever was bothering her, wasn't grief. This wasn't someone who still wept daily over the loss of her beloved friend and talented student. This was the face of a broken woman, barely holding on. He'd never seen her like this before.

"Are you okay?" he asked her after he stepped into her small office and closed the door behind him.

Nodding curtly, she turned back to the brown, heavy-looking moving carton that was on her chair and began picking up some of the folders, files, papers and certificates from the wooden shelf on her left and then putting them into the box. "How can I help you, Toby?"

"You leaving?"

The dark-haired woman didn't meet his eyes. "There is nothing left for me in Columbus," she answered and shrugged. "I should have left months ago. God, I should have left _years_ ago when it all started happening. I have a girlfriend, you know. We've been together for years and we want go get married some day...maybe have kids and just live a normal, boring life...I can't believe I put her through all of this...I can't believe I..." she trailed off, suddenly glancing up with a pained expression. "I'm sorry you and Hanna got dragged into this mess. I really am. This was never about you and you don't deserve any of it. She's a sweet girl and a wonderful slayer, and you're a great watcher, too. Don't let them _ever_ tell you otherwise. But I-I...I simply can't do this anymore. I can't. It's too much. I have to leave."

"Is this about Jenna? I don't understand-"

"It's better if you don't," she interrupted him, shaking her head. His confused gaze fell on the framed photograph on her desk as her fingers grasped at it, staring at it for a very long moment, eyes wet. It was the same picture Hanna's boyfriend had found in the watcher's personal files, he realized, only on her version, there were two other people standing next to the trio. Before he could make out their faces, wondering if maybe one of them was his older sister, she lowered the frame and put it into the box, too, exhaling deeply. "If you meet Jason, tell him...tell him I'm sorry. Tell him I'm _so_ sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"For what happened to her," Emily replied, gesturing towards the frame, "for what happened to him. For _everything_. I'm sorry. I need him to know that. We had a fight the other day and now he won't return any of my calls or text me back and I...I can't go over there. I can't go over there and keep lying to him and pretend that everything's fine when it's not. I made a mistake and I wish I could take it..."

Again, she fell silent, rubbing her forehead tiredly, and simply continued her task from before, walking from her desk to the shelves, from the shelves to the glass case, from the glass case to the cupboard in the corner of the room and back, packing everything that made her office _her_ office away, putting all of it into two boxes neatly...her movements were quick and kind of rushed but at the same time, she kept on pausing every now and then, leaning against her chair, staring out of her window, pretending to read through one or two dusty files he didn't think she was genuinely interested in. As much as she said that she _had_ to, he could sense that she didn't _want_ to go. "What did Jenna say to bring this on?" Toby inquired after another minute of very uneasy silence. "What happened between you two?"

With the way she'd been successfully dodging every single question he'd ever asked her, he hadn't really expected an answer to that so it surprised him greatly when Emily gave a low, humorless chuckle. "Your sister knows a lot of stuff I wish she didn't," she responded as she casually duct-taped the first box shut, moving to the second one swiftly, "and I know a lot off stuff I bet _she_ wishes I would just forget but Jenna's real problem was never with me. The reason I'm leaving town hasn't got anything to do with her. Nothing she says, nothing she knows, nothing she _does_, will ever scare me."

She emphasized the last word ever so slightly and he doubted she even realized that she had done it because when he voiced his second question, he saw her freeze at once. "So that fight, it isn't about you and Jenna, it's about the DiLaurentis family and Jenna," he mused, helping her move the box from the floor onto her desk. "Why would you willingly put yourself into it?"

A bittersweet smile was shot his way, eyes searching his, and she only countered in a small voice, "Do you love Hanna?"

"What?"

"Do you love Hanna?" she repeated slowly. "And I don't mean like _that_...I just mean...would you do anything for her? Even if that meant getting yourself into a messed up situation? Even if that meant doing things you aren't proud of? Do you love her, with all your heart?"

"Yes," he answered truthfully and without hesitation. "She is the closest thing I have to a family."

Once more, she smiled up at him sadly, then looked at her shoes. "I met Jason fourteen years ago when he started seeing my friend. We were just kids, barely in our twenties...but we went through a lot together, you know? Thick as thieves, that's how the saying goes, right?" she said. "There is nothing I wouldn't do for them...any of them." She paused, eyes distant, focused on something he couldn't see, and then she added, in a whisper, this time, "She was dying, Toby, what was I supposed to do? She was dying and I...I forgot my phone in my car and Jason wasn't there and I was so scared..."

Her voice quivered with so, so much pain and guilt that he didn't reply, his hand hovering above her shoulder for a tiny beat helplessly before he relented and gave it an comforting squeeze. The moment he did, he regretted it, though, because it didn't seem to help her; instead, the woman broke down in tears at once. "She was _dying_, what was I supposed to do? And J-Jason refuses to understand and _hates_ me for it but she was dying. Just like that. And I-I still remember all that blood on my hands...she was dying!" Emily hiccuped. "And she told me to get my phone and call the ambulance, she told me that it'd all be better if we got her to a hospital and I believed her. I believed that I c-could still save her but she already knew that it was too late. She _knew_. She just wanted me gone so that I wouldn't be there when she...when she...god, I was so s-stupid! And then I ran back because I wanted to say goodbye and then she was there but she wasn't moving anymore...and then, and then _she_ was there and sh-she said she could help me if I wanted. She said she could make _her_ not...not dead. And I was so selfish..."

At first, Toby didn't understand what she was talking about, too absorbed in trying to console her, frantically searching around for a hanky, but then the meaning of her words dawned on him and he stared at her, blues widened in shock. "Oh no. _No_. Emily, please tell me you didn't..."

The woman gave a loud sob. "I was selfish and stupid and I wish I could take it back. I wish I could undo it. But sometimes, people do really awful things for people they love. Things they shouldn't do. Things they regret. I did it for Jason and Aria and I did it for her and I-I just...I loved her so much. Tell me you wouldn't have done the same. Tell me you wouldn't have saved Hanna," she whispered; he remained silent, too afraid of his own answer, "I know I made a mistake. I know I made a _huge_ mistake...I c-couldn't let her go and I should have. But she was dying...what was I supposed to do?"

* * *

><p>"You know what, I really don't get you people. When the news come on and they talk about bodies with neck trauma or other weird stuff, you just continue happily eating your cereal and pretend that everything's peachy. Then you actually follow a complete stranger into an alley at night and suddenly, it's all, <em>gosh, darn it, vampires exist, who would have thought<em>. Like, this isn't—oh, it's you," the demon hunter said, rolling his eyes and picking up the stake from the ground. He thrust it into Toby's hands forcefully. "What kind of lousy watcher are you? _This_ is a stake. It's your friend. Learn to use it."

Stepping into the light, Hanna made sure the man saw the huge, wooden crossbow she was pointing at him. "Relax, blondie. We were trying to find you and didn't know how," she said, all business-like.

He tucked away his weapon in his jacket, gaze wandering from Toby to Hanna warily. "And would you mind letting me know why you were trying to find me?"

Even though her watcher opened his mouth to reply, she shut up him with a very pointed look. They had talked about how they would approach this in the car earlier and this time, she wanted him to do exactly as his job title said. Watch. She was the slayer, after all. Well, _a _slayer but one of _the_ slayers of Columbus. A pretty big deal, that's what she was. She could totally handle some guy who thought he owned the world with his embarrassing boy toys and leather jacket, ranting about humans not taking the night seriously, when _he_ wasn't even the one with superpowers.

_Ugh, stupid demon hunters_.

"Because we wanted to talk to you," she said sweetly.

"About what?"

"Your sister."

Not at all impressed by her glare, just like during their first meeting, Jason merely snorted coolly and for a second, she wondered what had happened to the man she'd seen in her dream; the man who'd carried his little sister down the stairs, hugging her to him so tightly, so protectively, as though he'd wanted to make sure that no one could harm her any longer. "Talk's over," he replied, raising his eyebrow as Hanna, too, raised her crossbow higher. The quarrel she let go missed him by a few inches and he chuckled, amused. "You gotta work on your aim a bit, Slayer."

"I did that on purpose," she shot back, dropping her weapon on the ground with a huff. It was a total lie but he didn't have to know that. His response was another chuckle, warmer and a little nostalgic this time, and then he started walking away, only halting when she added, "There's word that your sister's a vamp. Maybe you're not familiar with how our world works, Van Helsing, since you're obviously living in a fantasy one but slayer turned vampires..._slaypires..._are dangerous territory. Real dangerous. More than your freshly-sired, no-name, just-crawled-out-of-its-grave demon."

When he lifted his hand as if to indicate her to stop, she noted with grim satisfaction that he was still wearing his silver wedding band on his left ring finger. Good. If he refused to cooperate again, it was finally time for the big guns, no matter what Toby said. Yeah, Miss Fields _had_ cracked, just like Caleb predicted, but it hadn't been her watcher who'd made her talk, only the woman's very, _very_ sore conscience. Toby was way too nice and sensitive for this kind of stuff, a dreamer, an optimist; he didn't know the first thing about people and how to get information from them. He just wasn't as alert as...

"Who is that?" Toby interrupted her inner monologue and she followed his gaze, frowning; at the end of the alley was a tall and slender figure, hidden by the darkness around it, and it was now slowly backing away. Huh. So that hand thing hadn't been meant for her. Okay, she couldn't have known that.

"That's my sister, you idiot."

"The dead one?" Hanna asked.

"_The dead_—don't they teach you anything useful at that Slayer School? You are supposed to _feel_ a vampire. You are supposed to _sense_ them. That's what comes with the whole slayer package," he sighed, annoyed. "And no, she is not dead. I have more than one, unfortunately. We're done here."

He turned to walk away again and she dug the photograph of the three friends she'd printed out a few hours prior out of her pants pocket, ignoring her watcher who immediately started shaking his head vigorously when he understood what she was trying to do. "I know you lost Aria and your baby to a vampire," she said in what she hoped to be an intimidating tone. It was funny that he did precisely what she'd predicted he would do; shoulders pulled up, he spun back around in a flash with a hard look in his bright eyes. "How you gonna live with your sister doing the same to someone else? Taking away their wife and their baby? How you gonna live with that, Mr. Demon Hunter? Huh?"

"_Hanna_."

The slayer took no notice of her mentor, instead dangling the picture before the man's face, watching his eyes go from left to right, right to left. It was a low-blow. It was the _lowest_ of blows, actually, but it totally worked. Jason snatched it out of her hands angrily and growled, "Where did you find this?"

"I have my ways," Hanna responded, crossing her arms. "Like, I'm an only child but I totally get it, okay, she's your sister and you love her and stuff, and you can't do it. You can't kill her. I get that. I'm not blaming you. But you gotta tell me where she is because there are people dying and disappearing-"

"People dying and disappearing?" he echoed in disbelief. "You think she's responsible for that?"

She shrugged. "To be honest? I don't know. What I do know is that she seems to be involved in that crap and I wouldn't be surprised if a soulless, conscienceless demon turned out to be behind it."

Pretending not to notice that Jason glanced down at the photograph and slipped it into his own pocket stealthily rather than handing it back to the blonde, Hanna watched him as he began chuckling darkly while shaking his head. "If I knew where she was, trust me, I'd let you know. I've been trying to locate her for _months _because I seem to be the only sane person in my family who realizes that Emily has screwed up. But people keep secrets from me and I seriously have no idea where she's hiding," he spoke; it sounded as if he was telling the truth, given that it fit nicely with what Miss Fields had said to Toby earlier but she still wasn't sure whether they could trust him. "Go ahead. Find her. Kill her. I don't care. Tell you what...if you find her, please give me a call. I'll gladly put a stake in her chest myself."

"I don't understand," Hanna said, exchanging a puzzled look with her watcher, "I saw you in a dream once. A slayer dream. You and your sister. I mean _I _was your sister and you were so protective of me...I mean, you were so protective of _her_ and you...you loved her, right? I could feel it. You loved her and she loved you. And now, you're telling me that you're totally okay with her dying for real-real?"

He smirked, even though it looked more like a grimace. "You're a vampire slayer and you wanted answers on a vampire. You got 'em. Now go do your job and leave me and my family alone," he said and then he started to walk away once more; she didn't try to stop him. "And about that slayer dream of yours? You must have gotten something wrong. I told you, I have more than one sister."

* * *

><p>When he and Hanna sat in his car in front of Jenna's current residence, trying to make sense of what they'd been told by both the demon hunter and Emily, he realized how utterly foolish it had been to just assume that things would get easier from then on. They'd gotten some answers from the brunette watcher and the slayer's brother...well, slayers' brother...but truth be told, things were more complicated than ever. All the ridiculous and not-so-ridiculous theories they'd exchanged, talked about and carefully crossed off their list in the past months, now had to be reconsidered and replaced by those they'd never previously contemplated before. Research wasn't Hanna's strong suit and he could tell that the blonde was slowly losing interest and getting tired of "constantly playing Sherlock Holmes and Friends", as she'd put it, and finally wanted to take action. Action being finding the female vampire, staking her and hopefully putting an end to this mess they'd unwillingly gotten themselves into. He didn't exactly disagree, as slayers turned vampires—"Ugh, no, it's <em>slaypires<em>, boss"—were usually extremely vicious and strong creatures, even more than the regular demon, which was the reason why no vampire in their right mind normally dared to turn them, but somehow, Toby feared that it wouldn't be that simple.

Emily hadn't lied about leaving town; when he dropped by her office the next morning, eager to continue their conversation about her girl and the DiLaurentis family from the day before, she was gone and the room was almost completely empty, except for some random books she'd left behind for her Junior Watchers. Toby had wanted to be a friend, just like she'd tried to be to him, since the watcher seemed to lack someone on her side at the moment and even though the rational part of him knew full well that what she'd allowed to happen was a huge mistake, another part of him would have done the same in a heartbeat for Hanna. His phone vibrated on the small coffee table. Reaching for it, he smiled down at the blonde's text message. _HAHAHA LOOK A DUCKFACE SELFIE_, she'd written under a photograph of herself. Quickly snapping a picture of her laptop resting on his knees, he attached it to his reply and typed, _Research selfie_.

_No, old man. You need to look up the definition of selfie. And stop researching. We know everything that we need to know. Dead girl's not dead. I'm gonna kill her. Happy end_, the slayer texted back.

She had a point. She always did. Maybe it would be for the best to merely dust the vampire and then wait for the rest of it, Jenna included, to blow over. It wasn't even about them, like Emily had said. But still...with a loud, exhausted sigh, he switched back to the other tab, the one he had left open, just in case, and blinked at the website of the Council. Again. _This section is restricted. Please enter the log-in and password below to access the page content, _it said.

Getting into his sister's personal account wasn't an easy task. For one thing, he wasn't exactly friends with technology—his parents had given into the hype some time in the mid-90's, getting their kids a computer which he'd mostly used to play _Prince of Persia_ or _Pong—_andfor another thing, he seriously had no idea what kind of person his sister even was when she wasn't holding her usual and sickening odor of pure evil and insanity. He'd tried every possible combination of her birthday twice, then their father's birthday, even, in a moment of naivety, their mother's birthday; her first car, their first dog and cat, her first horse...he thought hard and then entered her middle name, and when that didn't work, he gave a groan and wrote a helpless _please_.

"This is nice."

It was a sudden reaction he had no control over; something in him winced as if it was Jenna talking to him, after having caught her baby brother going through her stuff, and at once six-years-old and terribly afraid once more, he startled, expecting a blow that never came, and immediately switched back to the article he'd been writing. Then he glanced up. Spencer was still in the same position she'd fallen asleep in a while ago; curled up into an uncomfortable-looking, tiny ball, one arm pressed against her chest, the other hugging her torso, but now her wide-awake gaze, half-hidden by her rumpled, curly hair was searching his. "Well, I told you it's a great movie. You missed almost all of it, though," he remarked, feigning nonchalance, heart beating fast, and gestured towards the end credits.

"No, that's not what I meant," she replied in a heavy tone, brushing her locks out of her face slowly and then wrapping her arms around her legs. She looked like a child. He didn't understand what she was so scared of that she tried to make herself as small as possible, a very confused frown creasing her eyebrows, until she added, "I don't sleep much, usually. I don't even remember the last time I slept for real...or the last time I ate more than a few bites." She drew her bottom lip through her teeth. "And today I ate two cheeseburgers, then I ate yours, and _then_ passed out on your sofa for, like, two hours."

He knew exactly what she was talking about, remembering the same feeling too well from the painful months, and years, after his mother's death but he also knew that they were heading into dangerous territory now; one wrong movement, just one, and she'd close off and run away again. Clearing his throat and trying to look casual, he gazed back at Hanna's laptop, pretending to be entirely engrossed in his writing, and tried to think of a response. Something that didn't sound as though he was pushing her into opening up. The brunette seemed to have taken his silence as disinterest, though, because she sat up, not meeting his eyes, and hastily mumbled, "Sorry. You're not a hotel and you probably...we had sex last week and now I come here almost every day and all I do is sleep and eat your food and..."

Horrified, he put the laptop aside hurriedly and jumped out of the armchair when he saw her fingers reach for the hem of her shirt fast. "No, Spencer, don't do that," he pleaded. The dark-haired woman lowered her arms, dropping them onto the sofa with a thud, again determinedly avoiding his blues and staring at her black tights instead. Toby frowned at her. What had he done wrong? What had he said this time to make her recoil like that? Then, suddenly, it hit him; she thought he'd rejected her. Great.

Grimacing, he rubbed his forehead. Things between them used to be so much simpler when they were still meeting up in bars, sipping at drinks and having boring talks about the weather. "I didn't mean it like that. Look, last week was definitely..." Finally, she raised her head curiously. "...amazing but I never expect...I mean, maybe we even kind of rushed things a bit and—I swear, it's fine, I like having you here and I really don't mind you eating my cheeseburgers and sleeping on my sofa."

For a moment or two, neither spoke up, only the noises coming from Hanna's laptop breaking the silence now and then, until Spencer gave a soft chuckle and looked up with a slight smirk. "Sorry. I'm not used to people being nice, I guess," she stated, voice sounding exactly like the girl he'd accidentally and quite literally run into a few months ago. He didn't know whether that was a good or a bad thing. "I don't have any real friends except for a few friendly acquaintances and the closest I've ever been to a relationship is sleeping with the same guy four times so..." she trailed off and shrugged, extending her arms. "I'm a little rusty with human interaction. I'm sorry. Your cheeseburgers are great, though."

The watcher smiled. "Every time _I _try to get into dating, Hanna finds a way to ruin it," he told the brunette. "For example, according to her, my ex-girlfriend was actually a demon in disguise...there was this one girl I went out with and, of course, she was totally evil, too...oh, and she's convinced that _you_ are a crazy serial killer, by the way."

One dark eyebrow shot up provocatively. "_Dating_...hmmm, interesting. Is that what we're doing?" she asked with another smirk. When he didn't reply and merely gaped at her, feeling an awkward flush crawl up his neck, she snickered loudly, pulling up her feet so that she was sitting cross-legged and picked up the white steaming mug from the coffee table, sipping at it. "Relax. I'm just teasing you."

"That was _my_ coffee."

"Great use of past tense. That _was_ your coffee but it's mine now," Spencer responded, returning his toothless grin. Then she pointed at Hanna's laptop. "What are you doing there, anyway?"

Scratching his head, Toby sighed. "Don't laugh but I'm trying to hack into my sister's account," he said to her. "I've tried every potential password I could think of and I'm really, _really_ bad at stuff like this..."

"Why would you wanna do that?"

"It's complicated. There's a lot going on, and apparently, the slayer who protected the city before Hanna and I came here was turned into a vampire and then there is _another_ slayer running around Ohio and she seems to be connected to Jenna somehow," he shrugged, "I just feel like she knows something we don't and that's why I'm trying to get into her account, maybe read her journals and her e-mails..."

The brunette hummed, holding his gaze, innocent brown eyes boring into his. "A slayer turned vampire..." she repeated, lost in thought. "Have you told the school about this? Or the Council?"

"Nope. Do you think I should?"

There was that adorable thinking face again. "Mmmmm...no. Her family's gonna get in serious trouble if they find out. Better keep that information to yourself," she eventually replied. "What does your sister have to do with that, though? Do you think she's the old slayer's watcher?"

He shook his head. "Like I said, there's this Cleveland girl and she ran away from her squad, I don't know, and Jenna seems to be kind of, I guess, afraid of her? We think she's the dead girl's sister. So..."

"Oh," was her only response.

"Yeah," he agreed and nodded slightly. "Hey, you moved here from Cleveland, right? Ever noticed my sister around? She's about _this_ tall, dark hair, green eyes, ugly scar on her face...?"

She laughed a little. "Well, I know that Cleveland's no San Francisco but it's not exactly a small town either, so, no, I don't know everyone living there personally. Sorry. Besides, like I said, I normally keep to myself," she countered and crossed her arms. "And anyway, why are you so sure that that girl is after Jenna? I hate the Antichrist with a passion, she's a sixteen-year-old bundle of hormones, teenage angst and incredibly stupid decisions but if something happened to her...I don't know what I'd do. Maybe that girl ran away to be closer to her sister. Maybe she ran away to _help_ her sister. Maybe it's not Jenna who's afraid of _her, _maybe the girl is afraid of Jenna. My dad had a lot of books and I've read enough stories to know exactly how these things go. Girls with superpowers saving the world, great, but in the end, you guys are _always_ the ones pulling strings and making things happen. If your sister wanted, she could make that girl disappear forever without thinking twice. Don't pretend like she is the victim."

"Wow. Thank you for the insight, Miss Psychology Degree."

That earned him a scoff. "I'm just saying...it's not always black and white. Don't be so judgmental."

His grin only grew wider when her dark browns narrowed down at him dangerously. "That's rich, coming from you, the most judgmental person on the planet."

"You know, every once in a while, I'd really appreciate getting a _nice_ compliment from you. Maybe something about my smile or my eyes. You could tell me that I'm smart, for instance. And funny..."

Now thoroughly amused, he gave a loud chuckle. "You are a very beautiful woman. Inside and out."

"There you go! Thank you, Toby. But next time...less sarcasm, please," she smiled and nodded, momentarily satisfied, "and now, ask me out on a date. Tomorrow night. I'm going to say yes, by the way, so there's no need to be nervous."

Still grinning at her, he opened his mouth, enjoying the playful banter they'd once again slipped into but an urgent knock cut him off completely out of the blue; a brief look was exchanged between the man and woman and he shrugged his shoulders meekly as a response to her frown, not knowing who'd drop by at this hour either, considering that Hanna had a key. He stood up from the armchair leisurely and walked over to the door, rolling his eyes when he saw who it was. His lovely sister. Naturally.

As usual, she squeezed past him wordlessly, not giving him any time to react or even fully open the door and then strutted into his apartment, head held high, dripping black umbrella in her hand, stopping short when her gaze landed on Spencer sitting there on the sofa, her happy smile fading away. The brunette had taken off her jeans before falling asleep, now only wearing her black tights and her shirt, holding a white mug, a green blanket draped over the back of the sofa, bobby pins, laptop and the empty plates from their impromptu dinner still sitting on the coffee table...he was no fool. They hadn't done anything like that but he knew exactly what it looked like; Jenna glanced back at her younger brother, clad in his dark-gray pajama bottoms, with a smirk. And he knew what she was thinking, too.

"I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?" she asked lightheartedly.

Toby cleared his throat. Better get this over with. "Spencer, this is my sister, Jenna...Jenna, this is Spencer," he said, still awkwardly standing between the two women; the taller brunette finally raised from the sofa and stalked closer to the siblings as Jenna extended her arm with a sugarcoated smile.

"Nice to meet you, Spencer," she chirped excitedly as they shook hands, then threw some of her dark hair over her shoulder before she pushed her umbrella into Toby's arms who didn't know what to do with it either but was too wise to protest. "Do you have a last name or are you like Cher?"

Spencer threw a small look in Toby's direction and he couldn't read her. At all. She'd closed off, _again_, shoulders stiffened, dark browns dropping, arms hugging her torso as if to protect herself. "Hastings," she finally answered, a good ten seconds later. That made him jerk his head up questioningly; she'd never mentioned that before. "It's Hastings."

Jenna smirked. "Oh, that's a very pretty name. _Spencer Hastings_," she purred. "And where do you come from? Are you a true Ohioan gal?"

"Born in New England. Grew up all over the place. Ended up here," Spencer replied curtly.

Before Jenna could continue her interrogation which seemed to make the younger woman really uncomfortable—and given the tiny pieces of her life and past she _had_ shared with him, he supposed it was only natural—Toby broke her off with an annoyed sigh. "I think that's enough," he hissed, "what do you want?"

The watcher ignored him, though, and produced a big smile she directed at the other woman. "I'm very sorry if I made you uneasy, Spencer. I truly wasn't trying to be harsh or nosy. I'm an older sister, you see, and I care a lot about my family. I just wanted to know who my little brother is _fucking_, I guess."

"_Enough_, Jenna," Toby snapped. "What do you want? Why are you here?"

The woman in question turned her head to him, Cheshire grin and all, "I'm here to talk about things we are not supposed to talk about in front of," she pursed her lips, snorting, "_humans_."

"It's okay. Her parents...um...are watchers."

Jenna's face lit up. "Oh, really?" she exclaimed cheerfully. "What a pleasant surprise! I know almost all of the watchers in the Council in person, how come I've never heard of your parents?"

Feeling something tug at his left arm, he glanced down and saw Spencer grab at his hand desperately, intertwining her cold fingers with his. "They were in the Old Council and died in 2002," she mumbled.

Jenna gasped and held a hand to her chest. "Oh, no, I'm sorry. That must've been awful. My fiance died when the Old Council fell, too. I know how that feels," she sighed, "I'm just wondering, though. Daddy and Mom were friends with most of the watchers of the Old Council, right, Tobes? Especially with those who were important enough to be invited to England...like Spencer's parents, apparently. And didn't Daddy make you write and send out these cards? For the families of the watchers who died?"

"Umm...yeah..."

"Do _you_ remember the Hastings?" the dark-haired watcher questioned. "Because the Old Council used to be much smaller than now and I remember most, if not all, of their names. I was so young back then but I was just as ambitious. Gosh, lemme think, Emmy's parents, her aunt and her uncle were in the Old Council, right? And her parents are in the New Council, too. And, of course, the Montgomerys...sweet Ella, still wondering what happened to her firstborn daughter. What a tragedy. Hmmm, I can't remember the last name of Emmy's slayer, though...what was it again? DiLaurentis? Or something? They were in the Old Council, too, as far as I know. But Hastings? I don't recall the name Hastings."

"Well, maybe you're not trying hard enough," Spencer spoke up, "because I remember that card. It had white lilies on it and doves in the back. A cheesy William Wordsworth quote. _In deepest sympathy_, it said, _from Daniel Cavanaugh_ _and his family_. Came from San Francisco." Then she pulled at Toby's hand again and whispered, when he looked at her, "I think I should go. Thank you for having me."

Toby frowned. "No, please stay-"

"I can drive you home if you want," Jenna cut in loudly. "I've got two slayers waiting in my car. I mean, it's dark out, you're a tiny girl and there are demons walking the streets..."

Spencer gave her a strained smile. "I'm good, thanks."

Watching her walk back to the sofa, where she slipped into her pants and shoes and picked up her purse, he sighed as Jenna's green eyes flickered back and forth between the pair, pleased. "Wait, don't-"

"I'll call you tomorrow...for that...thing," she simply said, first pressing her lips to his cheek, then to his mouth in a very short kiss. He hadn't expected that. "Goodnight Jenna. It was nice meeting you."

His sister nodded gleefully, stepping aside to let the woman walk past her. "Goodnight, Spencer _Hastings_. You're a looker. I'm glad that you're taking such good care of my baby brother," she said, holding the door open for her. "Beautiful necklace, by the way."

* * *

><p>She didn't know how much the Watcher's Council paid Toby. Truth be told, she didn't even know where all that freaking money <em>came<em> from; most of the well-known watcher families were loaded as hell and the general public supposedly didn't know anything about demons, vampires and slayers. With a light shrug, she decided that she would ask Toby about it later. So she didn't know how much the Council paid him but she knew that it wasn't that much. They'd never experienced any serious financial troubles and her mentor normally didn't protest when she went on a never-ending rant about how much she needed _this _dress or _those_ pants or maybe _these_ ear rings—except that one time back in Seattle but in retrospect, Hanna could see that he had a point because she really didn't need those $700 shoes even if they were super cute and totally complemented her skin tone.

Their old apartment in Seattle, although she'd loved living there, had been uncomfortably tiny and extremely moldy, Toby's car was probably older than Hanna and even if the slayer hadn't dropped out of high school, she knew that college was completely out of the question; they didn't have much but they had each other and Toby always tried to make sure that she was one happy slayer and, more importantly, one very happy Hanna. On her fourteenth birthday, for example, he'd bought her quite an expensive scythe. Of course, she tried not to discriminate, she loved all of her weapons just the same...but she had to admit there was something about that scythe, maybe the emotional value, maybe the way it felt in her hands, that made it better than the rest of her playthings. Plus, it kind of looked like the infamous red scythe of the Team Sunnydale gang and made her feel _real_ badass and powerful.

And, naturally, she thought as she threw up the wood with her right hand and caught it with her left skilfully, the stake Mrs. Rodriguez had given her almost eight years ago was pretty swell, too. A smug grin grew on her lips at her exceptional talent and she turned her head to Jenna who was carrying her scythe with a pissed off expression and who was _still_ in ultimate bitch mode because Hanna had made her drop by Toby's place an hour or so ago to pick up her aforementioned favorite weapons. The blonde rolled her eyes and bit her tongue, silently counting to ten and trying to calm herself down by picturing the woman stumbling into an open grave and _accidentally_ staying there until she died of dehydration.

"Oh my god," Hanna exclaimed and groaned, barely stifling the _Shut up_ that threatened to spill over her lips, "it's only two freaking weapons. Please just stop complaining. I told you I could get them myself. You're a watcher, _ma'am,_ shouldn't _you_ know how important weapons are to a slayer?"

"No, Hanna, I refuse to get this obsession with certain objects. My old girl had a stake she never left for patrol without because some useless watcher had caved it for her. What a sob story," Jenna said, a sneer creasing her lips. "You don't need weapons. You are slayers. You _are_ weapons. Use your surroundings, your imagination, your instincts, for all I care."

Hanna huffed. "Why are you lying?" _You annoying asshole. _"Shana has plenty of weapons."

"I know that she does. But she doesn't have a favorite and she knows that it's not the weapons making her strong and skilled. And _this_," she held up the scythe, slender arms immediately sinking down again under its weight, causing Hanna to snort, "isn't going to help you either if you don't know how to use your powers. I prefer to give my girls _nice _gifts. Bought all four of mine a silver cross necklace. They're useful and they look pretty. Speaking of, you're gonna get yours next week. Excited?"

"Uh-huh. Way excited," Hanna replied dryly. "You gonna put a spell on it? A curse or whatever?"

Laughing loudly, Jenna raised her eyebrows at her. "No, Hanna, I promise, it's just a necklace. You don't have to wear it if you don't want to," she said and grinned. "And, don't worry, I like to keep my distance to witches and warlocks. They're the most disgusting creatures on earth."

"Oooh, so much bitterness! What happened, Jenn..._ma'am_...did some mean witch steal your lunch money? Spoiled _Breaking Bad_ for you? Told you that Santa isn't real?"

The watcher smirked a bit and then opened her mouth with what was surely going to be another clever retort but Hanna didn't pay any attention to her; the hairs on the back of her neck prickled, blue eyes scanning the dark cemetery and body suddenly feeling really, really heavy. She whipped her head around, ignoring Jenna's greens shining with slight confusion, and then she saw her. The Baby Slayer who'd—allegedly—run away last week, casually standing in the middle of the graveyard now and leaning against the mausoleum wall behind her. She was wearing the same clothes she'd worn on their group outing but other than that, she seemed to be fine and in a really good mood actually, even giving Hanna a childlike toothy grin and waving at her when she spotted the older slayer.

"Hey! Hey Mackenzie! No, wait...Melanie! Maureen!"

"_Madeline_," Jenna called in an authoritative tone and shot Hanna a look that was most likely meant to signal her to follow her, no discussion; the unlikely pair walked over to the girl quickly. "Where have you been? Your watcher was worried sick. Hanna, go find Shana. We're driving Maddie home, now."

"Yes, Hanna, please go find Shana. I'll stay here with Jenna," Madeline chimed in sweetly.

Jenna stilled abruptly. "What did you just call me?"

Apparently used to people flinching back whenever she gave out one of her icy looks, Jenna seemed rather taken aback when the redhead merely shrugged disinterestedly. "Jenna," she repeated and Hanna couldn't help but giggle, only falling silent on the watcher's stern gaze. "That's your name, isn't it?"

"That would be _Miss Cavanaugh_ to you," Jenna bit back, crossing her arms. "I don't know what they teach you incompetent girls at school but where _I_ come from—what the hell do you think you're doing?"

The Baby Slayer produced a silver dagger out of her left sleeve slowly; the blonde hadn't noticed that she was hiding it there and felt her eyes widen. It looked pretty damn impressive. "Hanna, you were really very nice to me and I don't wanna hurt you...unless you want me to. We're both slayers, sisters, kind of, you know, and I don't hurt what's mine. So I suggest you leave Jenna and I alone 'cuz we need to talk about a few things. I'll make sure you won't be held responsible for whatever happens to her."

Frowning, Hanna gaped at her. "You're a vampire," she stated, fingers grasping her stake.

But Madeline just stood there, not moving from her spot and still absentmindedly toying with her knife, a creepy smile stretching her chapped lips. "My master sent me here. Not for Hanna. For you, Jenna."

"Who is your master?" the brunette demanded, hard face and intimidating voice and all that crap but that faded away the second the vampire answered her question with the same insane and lazy grin.

The redhead raised the knife and pointed it at the scar on Jenna's face. "The one who gave you _that_."

Suddenly, the watcher took a step back, reaching for the blonde's arm in fear who raised her brows and wrenched it free. "You're lying, demon," she hissed, fingers stroking her features somewhat protectively, as if she thought that the thick line had opened and stared to bleed again, "you are _lying _to me. She is dead. I _know_ that she's dead. Don't lie to me. Who sired you? Who is your master?"

Tilting her head, Madeline tapped her finger against her chin pensively and hummed. "Now, why would I lie about something like that? Why would I lie about my sire? Dude, she _made_ me. She gave me eternal life. I am forever grateful for her," she said and gave a sigh. "But she told me you wouldn't believe me and that you would need some convincing first. That's how well she knows you."

It happened so fast that Hanna didn't have any time to react, didn't have any time to _think_, and when Madeline launched at Jenna, knocking her down with one expert kick in less than three seconds, all those years of intense slayer training coming in handy, she realized that one part of her didn't care what was going to happen to the dark-haired woman. Madeline straddled her waist, pinning her to the ground, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes as Hanna picked up her scythe and watched, entertained.

"Kill her!" Jenna screeched, fingernails unsuccessfully clawing at Madeline's cheeks to get her off of her but even though the girl was very young—she'd been a young human when she got turned and now she was a young, inexperienced vampire, only a week old—she was still _strong_. Extraordinarily strong.

"What is she talking about? Who is her master?" Hanna asked.

With a snarl, Madeline rammed her dagger into the soil next to Jenna's frightened face, her hands curling around her pale neck and pressing down vigorously; the blonde pulled the vampire up by her shirt effortlessly and the watcher choked out, "I promise, I _promise, _I'll tell you _everything_ you want to know but just—just kill her, _kill_ her" but Hanna shook her head, unimpressed, letting go of her grip on silky material once more and Madeline sunk back down, going back to what she was doing right away, like an stubborn, red-haired robot with a mission. Or an aggressive puppy dog. The air smelled of burned flesh, then, as the redhead dug something out of her pocket; a necklace, the silver cross leaving red marks on the vampire's palm. She made sure that Jenna saw all of it before she threw it in her face.

"Mmmm...what you think?" she snarled, yanking her knife out swiftly and holding the blade against the brunette's forehead teasingly, not leaving a cut, only touching, taunting. "Convinced yet?"

The woman gave a sharp cry, struggling to throw her off. "_Kill her_," Jenna pleaded.

Hanna raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, ma'am, am I _allowed_ to do that? Just wondering. The last time I staked a vamp without asking you first, you were really mad at me and I wanna be a good little slayer."

Then, without preamble, the Baby Slayer's dagger met hardened and cold skin, cutting in deep, blood everywhere, and Jenna first yelped, then gave an uncharacteristic shout of pain, thrashing around wildly, only stopping when the vampire exploded on top of her after Hanna finally did as ordered.

"What the hell?"

But the watcher gave no response to that and instead sat up on the ground, her usual oh-so-perfect hair a complete mess, panting hard, and then she slowly lowered her hand that had come up to cover her face, grimacing in pain. Another cry tumbled over her lips when she saw the pool of red in her tiny palm, a muffled echo creeping across the woods and Hanna, too, widened her eyes, momentarily scared. Fresh tears mingled with driblets of blood as they ran down the brunette's cheek and she mumbled, in a voice Hanna had never heard her use before, not even once, "_Oh god_, no. No, no, no..."

With an annoyed sigh, Hanna rolled her eyes at her dramatic reaction, tucked her stake away and stalked a bit closer, kneeling down right in front of her to inspect the damage Madeline had left...and then she gave an involuntarily gasp at the sight that greeted her. Jenna looked terrible, her frame shaking with ugly sobs and louder whimpers, the well-known grotesque scar on the left side of her face now joined by a new one on the right that traveled from her forehead, over her closed eyelid, all the way down to her chin, like some kind of weird painting. She kept on crying and crying and crying, and Hanna felt a sudden pang of sympathy and something that almost felt like...pity.

"Okay, what just happened? Who sent her here?" she questioned in full slayer mode, grabbing the weeping woman by her shoulders to force her to meet the girl's gaze. "What the fuck was that?"

Sniffling, Jenna pressed her palm against her own cheek, face whitening. "A warning," she whispered.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: GASP. PLOT TWIST.

Hello! It's me! I didn't forget about y'all! I'm really sorry, I meant to update sooner but then life happened. Also I'm generally really nervous about chapters where actual stuff happens and then the editing process usually takes forever and a day. Like I said, sometimes I'm Hermione Granger.

Oh and before I forget...Hanna's line about "something-ism" comes from _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ (S3E19) where Buffy says, "You can't just define me by my slayerness. That's...something-ism". And y'all probably guessed it because you're just as obsessed with this show like I am but Emily's ramblings about love and doing stupid things for people that you love were kind of (totally) inspired by Melissa in _Pretty Little Liars _(S05E07). I actually wrote this chapter before that episode aired but that quote was so great and extremely fitting, I had to use it in my story somehow.

**Reviews **

**emmaleewhittaker**: I know, right? It's probably one of the best BtVS episodes ever but the Gentlemen are just the scariest, man. This Gnarl...thingy and the Kindestod are really creepy, too, though.

**elenabee...more like, elenaBAE: **Like, I already told you that you're literally the worst but in case you forgot, I'll say it again: you're literally the worst. And you were right about so many things, actually, and that makes me sososo happy because, yay, people pick up on the little clues and hints I put into each chapter and feel immensely clever about! ...or maybe it's because we have this really loving and obsessive connection. Well, you know, I'm obsessed. You are the Ali D to my Loser Mona, after all. Hopefully without the attempted murder and bitch-slapping each other in churches, though. OK, let's see...I really don't know how to respond to most of your theories and thoughts without accidentally ruining the super ~unexpected reveal and the next plot twist of the first part of this story BUT there are some things I can talk about, I think. Oh man, yes, the Spoby. The Spobes. The Spobsters. These idiots are seriously driving me crazy (and it's only gonna get worse, BTW, but maybe in a good way, too) and I feel like they shouldn't have had sex because both of them are in a really bad place right now, for different reasons. I definitely think they like each other very much, though, not just, you know, sexually or romantically, but in a platonic way, too. It's just right now, their, hmm, relationship is more of a distraction, like a nice and well-earned weekend getaway, from their hectic and at times not-so-happy and not-so-smoothly-running lives. Which is why, I think, they still have to get to know each other for real because they normally tend to stay away from talking too much about themselves...it's gonna be a very bumpy ride (was that a spoiler or just me giving my personal opinion? Who knows). I also have this headcanon...or I guess it's canon since I'm writing this monster...that, before going upstairs and doing the thing, Spence sat in her car for thirty minutes and tried to talk herself out of it. Haha, Jenna and Emily. Same. Show!Emily should just ditch both Paige and Ali and go be sassy in love with Jenna tbh. Ain't nobody got time for her weird ass love triangle bullshit. But, I really, really enjoy writing them because they're so interesting together, like, I can't. I'm kind of sad that Emily won't be around for a while (she's gonna come back eventually) to glare at Jenna some more but it's for the best, in a way, since she seriously needs to stay away from that town and put some (emotional) distance between her and the DiLaurentis family. As for The Cruel Sister question...this chapter hopefully gave some useful answers on that. You were not entirely wrong, though. Jenna's definitely **a **cruel sister and she'll continue being an asshole. But, like my precious baby said, karma's a bitch. Aw, man, I've been wanting to start a Buffy rewatch for _months_ but I never got around to it because I'm just too damn obsessed with that stupid ABC Family show about some dumb liars. It's like "Hmm! Do I start another show or do I rewatch one of my—nah, let's just watch the same stupid PLL episodes again," like, ugh, I don't love myself. I'll probably start my BtVS and AtS rewatch after the summer finale though. Hope you're having fun with yours. Don't cry too much about Tara and Jenny, 'kay? I'm almost done with Part Two, there are only two and a half chapters left, so hopefully, I'll be back to two updates a week soon. Ugh, thank you so, so much for this beautiful review. I totally meant what I told you last week, though, I seriously started crying when I saw this and I don't mean pretty-cry. Think Aria on the ski lift. That's me. Because I'm a way too emotional person. You're the _worst_ and I hate you. I'm gonna torment you with cryptic and vaguely threatening text messages signed by "-R" _forever_. Ughhhh. :')

**Guest #1**: Hahaha, aww. Thank you and really, I'm so sorry! I love Show!Jenna as a character, definitely hate her as a person. But she's just so damn interesting, I could not not include her. Don't worry, though. She's done some pretty awful stuff in here, too, and it's inevitably gonna come back to bite her in the ass.

**Guest #2**: Thank you sososo much, cutie! If you're still all ? with a little bit of ¿ after this chapter, I can promise you, everything will make sense after chapter nine. Because someone's going to finally sit down, talk, answer questions and spill most of his/her secrets that are leaving Hanna, Caleb and Toby as confused as you currently are, haha. Argh, and I don't know what to do with compliments so I'm just sitting here, grinning like and idiot and just, thank you. Seriously. But wait, vivid nightmares and dreams about vampires? Sleepwalking? Are you sure you aren't a slayer? ;) Nah, I totally get what you mean, though, and I would never think you're crazy! My relationship with sleep is an odd one and kind of complicated because most of the time, I can't sleep for days and then I usually pass out for eight to twelve hours straight and don't remember my dreams at all...but back in middle school, when I still used to go to bed at a reasonable hour, I had those terrible nightmares about people close to me dying and it's like, geez, brain, why would you do that to me, get your shit together, haha.

**Guest Number One**: HIIIIII! Hahaha, I'm so sorry, dude. Show!Aria annoys me sometimes and I don't love her as much as I love the other three dumb faces but I've always had such a strong connection to Book!Aria, I guess, and that's why I wanted her to be a part of this story. And, let's be real, Aria would make an awful slayer and I can't really see her as a watcher either so it's good that she never got to be a real one before she disappeared. Pairing her up with Jason was the only plausible option left. Plus, every slayer gang needs a witch tbh. I'm really glad that people enjoyed that scene. I generally don't have problems writing smut or anything but keeping it all so vague and flowery and T-rated was definitely hard. Like, everyone _knows_ what they're doing, why do I have to hide it behind poetic euphemisms, ya know? lmao sorry! I always automatically assume that everyone's reading PLLAnnotations on Tumblr. Queen of Birds is Aria. Because of her weird obsession with feathers. Yo girl, don't be so pessimistic and no, don't you dare give me that _you know what they say about hope_ line, alright? Finchel was canon. One day, y'all become canon, too, I'm telling you. I know stuff. Just wait and see. I know, right? I can live with people sorting Spence into Ravenclaw, Aria into Slytherin and/or Emily into Gryffindor but never ever will I accept Hanna as a Hufflepuff. That's literally my worst nightmare. (Speaking of, what would you do with the guys?) Yes, yes, definitely! They give me secondhand butterflies when they're kissing or just huGGING each other. Fuck, their hugs are the best. Hey, do you remember when I told you that I was uncertain and maybe _kind of_ over Emison at the moment? I lied. I totally lied. I screwed up. I was rewatching some scenes last week and then suddenly, all those Emison Feels appeared out of nowhere and, like, I never asked for it? I don't want it? Somebody sedate me? I basically agree with what you said, though, but I also think that they need to sit down and _talk it out_. Emily's extremely pissed, not just because she feels like Ali played her, she was already mad before. Like, that dream in 4B, for example. She's just constantly trying to keep a clear head and it's not working at all, that's why she's, you know, lashing out at Sydney. Who definitely deserved some of it but not Emily screaming at her like that. I'm not anti-Paily or anything and I can live with them reconciling but boy, if I were a Paily shipper, I wouldn't be happy about them getting back together to be honest because to me, it doesn't feel like Emily going back to Paige to be with Paige, it literally feels like Emily's going back to Paige because she's fed up with Ali and Paige is, like, the only constant left in her life. So, yeah, I agree, Emily needs to be a bit more aggressive with Ali and Ali needs some serious character growth but, if she's not -A and all, I think 5B or 6A could be Emison heaven. Aww but we do share a lot of OTPs, they're just not in my Top 10! Monica/Chandler, Logan/Veronica, Lily/Marshall, Nathan/Haley, Barney/Robin all the way, man! And let's never talk about HIMYM, please, I'm still not over it. Thanks. Ugh, I don't know. I'm a little intense sometimes and I guess I need someone who makes me laugh, keeps me grounded and tells me that I'm over-reacting when I'm stressing over nothing. So, basically, every intense and emotional female character's partner; Ron Weasley, Marshall Eriksen, Toby works, too, Xander Harris...only without the male parts, please. What about you, Miss Rachel Berry? ;) How was orientation, by the way? Duh, I'm still excited and nothing you say will make me less excited about that story. I expect you to let me know or link me to it when you publish it. The one-shot is still sitting in my draft folder...just like a gazillion other stories I started writing _months _ago. It's dumb. I'm dumb. It's just, there's something missing and I can't figure out what it is and it's driving me crazy. Like, ugh. Haha, nothing's up with my love life, actually. I got out of this relationship thingy last July, then we broke up for real-real in November and then we broke up again a couple of months ago. We used to be good friends before we started...whatever the fuck that was...and these days, I'm only missing her as a friend, other than that, there's sadly not much going on. I develop crushes really fast, though—sometimes, people only have to look at me twice and I'm like, _yooo_, it's embarrassing—and I like meeting new people so who knows what's gonna happen? Being single isn't that bad. Thank you, honey, you're a babe. Much love back to you!

**Guest #3**: I'M HERE NOW I'M SORRY PLEASE DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT LET ME HUG YOU

Thank you for reading! See y'all next week.


	8. Chapter 8

**Part One**: The Cruel Sister  
><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

"I still think we should drive her to the hospital," Caleb said in a low voice as he rubbed his eyes sleepily and stifled yet another yawn. Leaning against the somewhat dirty countertop with a _Please don't ask me any hard questions_ attitude and dressed in dark pants that were a little too short, his gray shirt inside out and with a faint stubble gracing his chin and cheeks, he looked like someone who had just woken up and didn't have enough time to pick out something socially acceptable to wear. Unlike the older man, who was standing by the door that lead to the living room, though, the Junior Watcher had managed to find two matching socks before leaving his apartment in a hurry.

With a small, uninterested shrug, Hanna merely crossed her arms and moved to stand next to her boyfriend, clearly unimpressed. Toby glanced over to his older sister, sitting there on the leather couch, a wet towel in her right hand she held against her face, the left one toying with her neck nervously. He had received the text message that told him to come over for an emergency meeting about fifty minutes ago; his cell phone buzzing on the bedside table just as he was getting ready for bed, green toothbrush between his lips and the spicy scent of Jenna's stomach-churning perfume still clinging to every piece of his skin, clothing and furniture even though she was long gone.

_Guess what? Turns out Baby Slayer is actually Baby Vampire_, it said, _she totally Joker'd Scarface and now that whiny bitch is bleeding all over the car seats. Like, eew? Meet me at Jenna's in ten and pick up Caleb on the way. This is an S.O.S. P.S.: I'm also kinda hungry so if you could get me something, that would be cool._

If there was one thing he admired greatly about his quirky blonde slayer, it was definitely her..._unique_ way with words. But most of the time, since she usually decided to ignore the rules of the English language and simply made up new ones which in turn made his inner bibliophile cringe, he had no idea what she was even talking about. Five years ago, he'd foolishly assumed that he'd get used to it one day, get used to the way she spoke, but five years of being with Hanna Marin later, he still felt slight confusion overcome him every now and then whenever she opened her mouth. And tonight hadn't been any different. After getting and reading her text—multiple times, too—he'd merely stared at the black letters on his screen, a tiny frown between his brows, and then he'd changed into his jeans and a casual shirt, dialing the younger watcher who was just as clueless as him.

Neither knew what was awaiting them in Jenna's apartment. The aftermath of an attack, most likely, Caleb had suggested between his second and third yawn, fiddling with the car radio. Patrol gone wrong. Yet another slayer turned vampire walking the streets. He'd thought about a lot of possible scenarios, had prepared for the worst, even packed his spare medical kit in case one of the girls was injured but seeing his older sister shake with fear and _actual_ tears wasn't something he'd expected. At all. Again, he looked over to her broken form and saw Mrs. Stevenson come back from the bathroom with another towel. Jenna had finally calmed down a while ago, right after Toby and Caleb arrived, but she was neither responsive to their endless question nor was she very cooperative.

Which irritated the blonde slayer immensely. A loud groan rumbled against his ear and he flinched in surprise as Hanna stood on her tiptoes and peeked over her watcher's shoulder to catch a glimpse of the brunette take in a shaky breath when Mrs. Stevenson pressed the fresh towel against her scarred face, throwing the other one on the floor. Jenna grimaced, lips quivering, and whispered a very short and very tearful thanks.

"Oh my god. I can't believe this crap. Look at that freaking drama queen," Hanna said angrily, gripping Toby's shoulders to pull herself up more. He couldn't see her face from this position and didn't turn around to check but he could almost _hear_ the pissed off eye-roll in her voice. "She's not even bleeding anymore!"

"Tell me again what happened," he whispered.

A half-sigh, half-groan. Instead of responding, she circled his neck with her arms from behind, grabbing his cheeks and pulling at them, forming smiles and pouts, squeezing them together and letting go for a few beats until she started doing it again. Although it didn't hurt, it was really uncomfortable and annoying. Sometimes he forgot how bored she could get after an unsuccessful patrol. He was about to tell her to stop and _please_ focus when her hands finally dropped from his face.

"I told you the same damn story, like, three times already," Hanna replied, now resting her chin on his shoulder blade and playing with the hem of his shirt. "I'm not doing it again."

Toby pushed her hand away when she aimed a punch at his stomach. "I'm bored and hungry and you didn't feed me yet and I'm _really_ pissed off because for every answer I get, there's, like, three hundred new questions and I just wanna..." She tilted her head so that she could look into his face. "Hey, do you think it would be okay if I killed Jenna? We could tell everyone that Maddie did it."

He chuckled briefly. Before he could answer, however, Caleb cleared his throat and the pair glanced up at him. "It's a regular dagger. Couple of years old, I think. Made in China. Nothing special about it," he explained and handed the silver object back to Toby who weighed it in his palm thoughtfully and then put it back on the tiny table next to him. "I guess we could look into it tomorrow at school, go to the library or something...but I seriously doubt we'd find anything interesting. It really is just a dagger."

"Okay, I don't wanna be a jerk about this and go..._told you_...wait, hang on, I changed my mind. Freaking told you so. The weapon is irrelevant," Hanna huffed into Toby's shirt, sinking back to her feet. "Why don't you two geeks ever trust _my_ instincts? I'm the slayer, remember? I'm smart."

"I do trust your instincts, Han. But you gotta remember that we have all these puzzle pieces and still no idea what the picture's supposed to look like in the end," Caleb countered. "We have to start _somewhere_, right? Miss Cavanaugh's in shock and I don't think she's going to be much of a-"

The blonde let go of her mentor and scoffed. "What do you want me to do? Run her a bath? Brush her hair? Sing her a lullaby?" she questioned, twinkling blues flickering back and forth between her boyfriend and teacher. "You know what? You're right though. We have to start somewhere. Let's start with making the Jenna Beast talk. We're doing this right right, right now, and then we're finally going back to Seattle. Like, tomorrow morning. I don't care. I'm _so_ done with this."

And then she snatched the silver cross necklace out of Toby's fingers and walked out of the door, the two male watchers following her automatically—maybe even a bit obediently, although the older man wouldn't want to admit it out loud—as she strode into the living room in big confident steps, throwing her hair over her shoulder dramatically when she reached Jenna and Mrs. Stevenson. The women were mid-talk, low voices and anxious hisses, and didn't look up from their conversation straight away.

Mrs. Stevenson's thin lips were pursed tightly, a barely there wrinkle creasing her long nose as if she was more than displeased with the current situation and, most probably, with what her friend had told her; the brunette had lowered the white towel finally and for the first time that night, Toby got a good look at her face. The fresh scar on the right side wasn't bleeding anymore, just like Hanna had observed, and her cheeks were dry, too, although her tears had left some darkish mascara and make-up spots on her white skin.

Hanna threw the necklace in Jenna's lap, causing the woman to give a sudden jerk. "You said you would tell me everything I wanna know if I staked Maddie for you," she began slowly, one hand in her hip in what he knew she thought was her intimidating slayer pose. "And I did. You're safe and sound, alive and kicking, thanks to me. Now I want my freaking answers and you're gonna give them to me."

Mrs. Stevenson gasped. "Miss Marin-"

"Yeah, that's my name but actually, I prefer Hanna. Or Han if we're good friends," the blonde cut off the unexpected interruption and shook her head no when the woman looked like she wanted to interrupt once more, "or alternatively, Slayer works, too, you know? 'cuz that's what I am. A slayer. And you guys are watchers which means that, without me or any of the other girls, you wouldn't have a job. So, Mrs. S, thanks for the input and I'm glad I got the opportunity to attend your school and stuff but I kinda wanna hear Jenna talking. This happened in _my_ town so it's _my_ business. Not yours."

Toby saw the older watcher contemplate that for a moment or two and seemingly decide that the slayer had a point. Even though she was visibly offended, Mrs. Stevenson nodded curtly, motioning her to continue, and fell silent. He didn't that that his sister would cave in as easily, though, and sadly, he was right about that. Greens sparkling up at Hanna, she simply cocked one dark eyebrow mockingly and held the slayer's eyes without a word.

Crossing her arms, Hanna glanced in Toby's direction, silently asking him what to do _now_, so he nodded encouragingly. "I know that heart-wrenching story about you buying your slayers fashionable dog collars so I'm guessing the newest addition to your personal scar collection comes from one of your kids, right?" Jenna didn't react or even give the slightest impressing that she was listening and Hanna continued, voice gradually growing more impatient, "Which one? And what did you do to her? We tried hacking into your personal files and reading your journals but it didn't work so...which one is it? Tell me. Is it crazy Cleveland Girl?"

"My personal files?" Jenna repeated, dumbfounded.

Her friend, too, looked absolutely shocked and even somewhat perplexed but as Toby regarded her, saw the way she covered her mouth abruptly, saw the huge frown between her brows, he realized that Mrs. Stevenson's bewilderment didn't stem from Hanna's confession about the not-quite-legal activities they'd been spending their free time with for the past weeks. She sat down next to the brunette and began massaging her temples, all while staring at the other watcher with widened eyes as if she didn't know what was going on either. As if Jenna hadn't told her a single thing about tonight, about her infamous Cleveland Slayer, about Madeline, the DiLaurentis family.

That was...weird and not like Jenna.

Thumbs stroking the silver cross in-between her fingers, Jenna scowled. "What do you three amateur-"

"Shh, I'm trying to think here and your voice is really distracting," the slayer broke her off harshly, holding up her forefinger to shush her. To his utter astonishment, his sister closed her mouth and gazed up at her expectantly. "Someone sent Maddie after you. And since she didn't _actually_ try to kill you—or me, by the way, even though I have delicious slayer blood and you don't look like you taste _that_ good and honestly, I feel like I should be offended—I think it was, like, to scare you...? No, wait, hang on, what did you call it earlier? You said it was a warning. And then crazy Cleveland Girl's in town and you seem to be afraid of her, right? But she's alive, as far as we know, anyway, and Maddie made it sound like her master's a vamp..." She snapped her fingers suddenly, something he'd never seen her do, and if it weren't for the seriousness of the situation, Toby probably would have found himself laughing. "It's the dead girl, duh. Miss Field's slayer."

A self-satisfied grin played at her lips as she whirled around to face her watcher and exclaimed, "See, Tobes, that's what you get for not listening to me. I figured it out on my own. Told you I'm smart. And you guys seriously thought the knife was the answer. Ugh, _please_. I'm telling you, Cleveland Girl is totally insane, like, batshit crazy, and has a grudge against Harry Osborn here and her sister's a vampi..._slaypire_, right? So they're working together to take Jenna out. Makes sense."

The blonde finished her conclusion with a proud nod, still smiling wide, but no immediate response came other than the older woman giving a gasp. His sister was also unusually quiet, hard face remaining expressionless, but somewhere, deep, deep down, he knew her—knew her too well, in fact, although he didn't _want_ to—and he recognized the calculating spark in her bright eyes at once; she was thinking, scheming, planning something _big_, putting clues and puzzle pieces together...and then, completely out of the blue, the brunette burst into laughter, her loud giggle startling the watcher on her right who held a hand against her chest and breathed, "Jesus Christ, Jenna."

Toby couldn't determine whether her laughter sounded cruel, sadistic or cold, devoid of any human emotion whatsoever but he immediately knew that he didn't like it. It was like sharp, sharp fingernails on a chalkboard. He hadn't heard her laugh like _that_ in years and it brought back too many unpleasant memories he wasn't very eager to relive.

Thankfully, after what felt like an eternity, she stopped, clutching at her stomach, a humorless smirk twisting her scarred face into a grotesque mask. "Wow. What an _exciting_ night. Thank you for coming over, Olivia, and thanks for your great detective work, Hanna and posse. I need to make a phone call," she then announced, raising from her spot and straightening her shirt casually.

She didn't get very far; Mrs. Stevenson grabbed her arm forcefully. "You can do that later. Right now, you're sitting your ass back down and telling me what the hell is going on and what else you and that family have been keeping from me and Roger. I _lied_ to the Council for you. More than once. The least you could do is finally tell me the truth," she hissed. Gone was the gentleness and warmth in her tone; the brunette stared at her friend as though she'd slapped her, mouth hanging wide open, and Toby, too, gaped at the older woman, somewhat impressed but mostly confused. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his slayer hold back a grin just barely and Caleb put on a neutral expression hastily after snorting a bit too loud.

"Emily's a girl, a vampire? Did you know about this? Does Emily know about this? Is that why she left town without telling me?" Mrs. Stevenson pressed on. "What is going on, Jenna? What screwed up business have you and your girl been doing behind my back? _Again_?"

The brunette put on a fake smile. "I'm sure this is all just a big misunderstanding," she cooed, patting her friend's shoulder before brushing her hand off her roughly. "I _really_ need to make a phone-"

An incredibly nasty glare followed and Toby nearly winced, although it wasn't even meant for him. "If you leave this conversation without answering my questions, please feel free to pack your stuff, take Miss Fring and go back to California."

"What—what is this, Olivia?" Jenna laughed. "Are you telling me that-"

"That you are no longer welcome here? Yes. Yes, I am," Mrs. Stevenson said coolly, neatly folding her hands in her lap. "I've known you for years. I thought we were friends. But then Miss Fring knocks at my door in the middle of the night, claiming that you've asked for me, and I come here and you tell me that the school in California fired you _years_ ago? That you meant to bring it up earlier but forgot? That you've been here for a month? And now the thing with Emily's slayer...I don't even know why I'm so surprised because _of course_ you already knew about it. You're back in the same mess from before. The same damn mess. What is it with you and that family? What is wrong with you?"

Hanna harrumphed soundly and four heads turned in her direction. "Also, you told me you'd give me my answers and, no pressure, but I'm still waiting and _kind of_ regretting-"

Toby had listened to the conversation play out before him and kept silent for all of it, merely exchanging one or two glances with Caleb. Mostly because his slayer was the most stubborn person he knew—although, now that he'd met Spencer, he most likely had to rethink that statement—and she had made it pretty clear that they were going to do this _her_ way, no interruptions. And certainly no interruptions from her mentor. But now, after hearing Mrs. Stevenson's harsh speech that reeked of pure disappointment and righteous anger, the past weeks, _months_, weighed down on him.

He wasn't the one to make rash decisions. While he had to admit that he sometimes did do stuff he probably shouldn't, he usually liked to think things through. Acting and reacting without taking a second to even consider a different option, that was Hanna's job, since she was a lot more instinctive, intuitive and spontaneous than her watcher. But knowing all that didn't seem to help him because the words tumbled from his lips before he even got the chance to stop them.

"No."

The blonde glowered at him. "What? Why? Don't you wanna know what's going-"

"No, Hanna, I don't wanna know," Toby said, only realizing how true that was when he heard himself speak. Then he turned to address Mrs. Stevenson. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I know you had a bad night and I'm only making it worse but I can't do this any longer. Hanna and I arrived here not long ago and even though I truly enjoy working for you and your husband, our stay so far has been nothing but trouble. I have no idea what happened between my sister and the DiLaurentis family and to be honest, I don't wanna find out either. Not when my slayer's the one who gets hurt. I'm going home and I'm taking Hanna with me. This temporary watcher thing ends _now_. If you have a problem with that, I guess we'll have to talk to the Council about it."

Mrs. Stevenson blinked. "Mr. Cavanaugh, are you threatening me?"

"No, ma'am, I respect you too much for that," Toby replied. "I'm just telling you that there's no way I'm letting my slayer stay here. You've obviously changed your mind about my sister and seem to agree that she's not fit to teach so I don't think there's going to be a problem. But if there is or if your husband thinks otherwise, I won't hesitate to let the Council know what's going on in Ohio."

He could hear Hanna give a gasp of surprise but he paid no attention to her and continued, in the same firm but hopefully polite tone, "I'll be writing the Council, anyway, and ask them to send us back to Seattle. And since I know that I need your and your husband's approval before I send in my request...expect my letter to you on Monday." Caleb fake-coughed and Toby quickly added, "And Mr. Rivers is coming with us and finishing his training with me."

"Because he's my boyfriend and no one's ever gonna stop me from humping that adorable face."

Toby nodded. "Because he's—_Hanna_."

She shrugged her shoulders. "What? Might as well kill two birds with one stone."

At first, no response followed. Mrs. Stevenson pursed her lips a bit more and began rubbing her knuckles wearily but other than that, she was so still that Toby feared he'd gone too far. He also wondered why his sister didn't speak up in the sugar-sweet and taunting way she normally would until he saw that she had managed to sneak away from the group. She was standing by the window, facing away from them, and frantically and a little aggressively typing a message on her cell phone screen.

"I will talk to my husband about it and get back to you Monday morning," Mrs. Stevenson eventually said after a minute of uncomfortable silence, utter fatigue lacing her soft voice, "and I'm just going to pretend that I didn't hear what Miss Marin was so kind to let us know about her and her, um, adorable boyfriend. It's getting late so I suggest you, Mr. Rivers, and Miss Marin go home and get a good night's rest. I still have a few things I need to talk about with your sister if she-"

The blonde slayer didn't give her any time to finish her sentence. With an insanely happy squeal, she jumped up and down excitedly, then disappeared down the hall, yelling, "Yes! I'm a free man! Wo-_man_! Fucking finally!" as a door was slammed shut.

Throwing Mrs. Stevenson an apologetic glance, he said, "Um...I'm sorry...It's just—she is..."

"She's Hanna," Caleb concluded when Toby trailed off awkwardly.

Five minutes later, she was back, still overflowing with joy, and casually loading her bags, shoes and purses onto her boyfriend's arms, pushing her clothes, make-up and weapons into her watcher's. Which was ridiculous, really, considering that _she_ was the one with superpowers and could have easily carried her stuff on her own but seeing her smile immediately made him forget his teasing comment. Tonight, she wasn't a slayer. She was a regular teenage girl.

Naturally, she didn't bother saying goodbye to Jenna and only waved at Mrs. Stevenson before she all but jogged out of the watcher's apartment, holding her chin high when she walked past Shana who had finally come back from patrol. Caleb mumbled a short goodnight under his breath and followed his girlfriend swiftly. After exchanging the necessary pleasantries with the female watcher and giving Shana a nod, Toby turned around as well.

"Toby? Can I have a word with you, please?" Jenna called after him then. He halted in his steps, unsure if he really wanted to hear what she had to say but his legs unable to simply keep walking. His sister didn't continue for a few long beats, however, drawing out the suspense as long as possible, while she slowly made her way towards him, her heels click-clacking, a wave of her perfume hitting his nose before her cold hand touched his back almost affectionately. Almost. "I know I wasn't a good sister to you when we were little and I know that there are a lot of things I need to make up for. I don't blame you for thinking that I'm the bad guy. _The big bad wolf_. But the moment you realize that it wasn't _me_ who screwed you over? Please make sure to take a picture of your face. It's going to be oh-so-delicious." She giggled softly. Nails on a chalkboard, indeed. "You know, I somehow wished I cared enough about you to tell you. Sadly, I don't. So I'm just gonna sit back, watch and enjoy the show."

Shrugging, he rolled his eyes and didn't answer. One more week, maybe two, if Mrs. Stevenson decided to drag this whole thing out, and he'd never have to see his sister's face again. Admittedly, knowing Jenna, _never_ was probably a tad _too_ optimistic but at least they'd be back in Seattle. Away from Jenna and her devious mind, away from that awful DiLaurentis family and their countless secrets, away from faceless threats...he felt himself get giddy with excitement, suddenly understanding Emily's need to leave Columbus a lot better. They'd finally leave that Slayer School and its ridiculously strict rules behind and Richard Philips, that jackass. Well...and Spencer, too.

With a frown, Toby closed the door behind him. Where had _that_ thought come from? He made a mental note to deal with that particular topic later. He exhaled and glanced up, giving a jump when he saw Hanna standing there in the semi-darkness. Her smile was gone. She looked like a predator.

"I wanna do something and you have to promise me that you're not gonna be weird about it," she said in a not-Hanna-like voice. He frowned again. "Because I'll punch you for real-real if you are."

"_OH-kaaay_," he answered, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

"Put that down," she ordered, gesturing towards her belonging he was carrying. The blonde narrowed her eyes at him and didn't sound like she was going to let him argue with her. So he hastily did as he was told, emptying his arms on the floor and trying not to step on a brown cashmere poncho that looked expensive and had him wondering whether it was hers of if she'd taken it from Jenna because he'd certainly never seen his slayer wear it before. "I'm totally not kidding, by the way. I'm _so_ gonna punch you if you're weird or awkward about this. Comprendre?"

"Hanna, what the hell is-"

Similar to the way she had pulled herself up earlier to lessen the height difference between them and reach his face more comfortably, she threw her arms around his neck, pushing her body fully against his so that he was the one supporting her weight and keeping her up. A short peck was planted on his cheek before she buried her face in his shoulder.

They'd done this a week ago, all clumsiness and silence following, and it shouldn't have felt this unfamiliar but it did, anyway; he stood there for five, six, eight seconds, frozen in shock, arms dangling at his sides uselessly, and then he embraced her back just as enthusiastically.

"Are we...are we actually hugging?"

An annoyed groan, followed by a sharp poke in his ribs. Now that was more like Hanna. "Yeah," her answer came, kind of muffled by his shirt, "we're hugging. Get used to it, okay? Because it's a thing now. _Our_ thing. We're gonna hug the shit out of each other and we're gonna enjoy it. Are you enjoy—wait, I changed my mind, I don't wanna know. 'cuz I do. I like this. This feels amazing. Don't be so weird about it, C."

Chuckling lightly, he let her sway them for side to side and cradled her head, although he was sure that she was going to rant about him ruining her hair once they broke apart. But for now, he didn't care.

Because life was good.

* * *

><p>Putting her laptop on her knees as she sat down, Hanna clicked her pen a couple of times, ignoring the irritated sigh that came from her mentor, and made another humming noise before she started writing in the notebook that was on the floor beside her. Momentarily satisfied, she drummed her fingers on her thighs to the beat of the pop song playing in the background and glanced up at Toby who climbed over her body skillfully. She was sitting in the bathroom doorway, her back leaning against the frame and legs outstretched as far as the tiny space allowed which wasn't very much but one little, very, <em>very<em> tiny and extremely small part of her couldn't stand the thought of letting her watcher out of her sight, even for a second.

After finally escaping awful Jenn-tanamo Bay the night before, with some help in the form of the most glorious backstabbing move she had _ever_ witnessed, courtesy of Mrs. S, her new role model and personal hero, she'd lain in her bed and stared up at the ceiling, super dramatic-like, until she got the urge to sneak into her watcher's room next door, crawl into his bed that was somehow more comfortable than hers and cuddle him, extra hard. She hadn't done it, of course, because sleep eventually got the best of her. And she didn't plan on telling him about it either. Because he _had_ been kind of weird about their hug already even though she'd warned him twice not to.

And secondly, she was still a little mad. Like, going all Judas on her last week? Hanna didn't forget things like that, not ever, and those baby blues of his still had a lot of making up to do.

But, there was always a but, she was thrilled to be home again. Which, she'd found out, didn't have to be a house or an apartment in the more expensive part of Columbus or Seattle. Sometimes, it was another person and in her case, home was two dorky watchers.

"I can't believe you're going on a date. An _actual_ date," she grumbled as she watched him stand before the sink, staring at himself in the mirror and fiddling with his hair exasperatedly. She thought that he totally should have listened to her when she'd tried to talk him into getting a cut a few weeks ago because, seriously, his hair looked like a freaking mess. "It's Saturday, I'm still in my pajamas and _you_ are going on a date with Bonnie Parker. You're, like, five hundred years old and have more game then me. What is this? How is that even fair?"

Toby smiled at her in that very confused I-really-don't-know-what-you-just-said way of his and began searching the cabinet for his razor. "Isn't Caleb coming over later?"

"Yeah, he is...but we're only gonna watch a movie and order some food because Aunt Flo is arriving in a couple of days and I'm feeling all blah about it, y'know? Not much action for Hanna Montana tonight," she replied distractedly and opened a new tab on her laptop. "Also? If I were you, I wouldn't use that on my face because I shaved my legs with it this morning."

The razor fell from his grip and landed in the sink. "Hanna, do you know what personal space is?"

She couldn't tell if he was referencing the obvious TMI she'd shared with him or if he was talking about her using his razor without asking—_again—_so she gave a nonchalant shrug and decided to answer both, just in case. "I'm sorry, okay? I forgot mine at Jenna's and didn't have time to buy a new one. Put it on the list, boss man," she said. "And if you really wanna know about my sex life-"

"No, actually, I _really_ don't-"

Hanna ignored the look on his face and continued, in the same light tone, "Calm down. We haven't done _that_ yet but we're getting there. Like, we're taking things slow and stuff because I'm a responsible adult. Unlike certain other people who hook up with serial killers on our couch without knowing them."

"Are you ever gonna let that go?" he sighed, annoyed, and nudged her thighs with his bare foot impatiently, signaling her to let him pass.

"No, Tobias, I'm not. I'm traumatized for life, basically, and it's all your damn fault. I'm pretty sure I need, like, six years of intense therapy to deal with the mental scars that lap dance left on me," Hanna shot back and shuddered in disgust. Chuckling, he climbed over her legs once more to get back to the bathroom; she gasped in mock-offense and slapped his calf. "_But_ since we're going back to Seattle soon, I'm willing to...wait, you haven't changed your mind about that, have you? We're still going?"

"No, don't worry, we definitely are," he quickly assured her and if she didn't know him as well as she did, she might have believed him but there it was, that all too familiar frown making an appearance on his face. The one that looked like the definition of having second doubts and she had to stifle the not-so-friendly remark that threatened to spill from her lips like vomit.

Groaning, she hoped that he would get over his weird crush on that weird lady eventually. After all, he was a...Hanna craned her neck, staring at him intently. Attractive guy, she wanted to say but that had a way too incest-y vibe to it. Handsome was good. He was a _handsome_ guy who could have all the weird ladies in the world. There was absolutely no need to mope over some no-name _could have been_ and _should have not _he'd randomly picked up in a bar.

"Wait, what are you doing?" she exclaimed when he closed the door on her and she was forced to scoot away. "I wanted to show you the apartments I found online!"

"I'm taking a shower," he explained which wasn't even necessary since she could hear the water running. "And I would like to do it in private. Do you know what privacy is?"

"Yeah. _Duh_. Something you don't get to have. We already established that _years_ ago, C. Pay attention," the slayer countered with ease. She heard him laugh and grinned to herself. "Fine, you take your shower and I'll just describe what they—_great_, now the phone's ringing."

"Can you answer it?"

"Yeah, I guess that's a cool idea and all...but no thanks. Answering the house phone is something I refuse to participate in," she shrugged. "It gives me major anxiety, actually. Like, what if it's the cops who want to arrest me for never returning that library book? Or what if it's the military and they found out that I'm a slayer and now they want to perform experiments on _my_ body? What if-"

"Hanna. _Please_ just answer the phone."

Blowing a raspberry and glaring at the closed bathroom door, hoping that he would somehow feel the nasty look she gave him, Hanna set her laptop aside, stood up and walked over to the kitchen. She squinted at the numbers on the display and for one tiny second, she felt as though she recognized the area code from somewhere but before she could dwell on that feeling, she picked up the call.

"Hello, this is Tobias Cavanaugh's personal secretary speaking, how may I help you?" she purred into the phone, cradling it between ear and shoulder and imitating Jenna's fake-sweet voice as best as she could while she poured herself a mug of cold coffee and checked the fridge for leftovers.

A moment passed and another but there was only eerie silence and just as Hanna contemplated hanging up with a shrug, a woman's soft and weirdly familiar voice said, somewhat shakily and nervously and a lot hesitantly, "I-um-I'm sorry, I was hoping to talk to Mr. Cavanaugh and..."

She broke off with a little cough, though, and Hanna rolled her eyes, closing the fridge shut. Was this one of his insane girlfriends again? The serial killer slash stripper, maybe? Or the one with the silky hair but whose dress was undoubtedly evil, thank god they'd broken up? Or maybe it was that English chick who'd somehow managed to sneak her stuff into their apartment after only five weeks of dating because Toby and her apparently connected so well over their mutual love for deaf leopards. Although Hanna didn't understand why anyone would ever enjoy deaf leopards. That was just cruel.

"Yeah, like I said, this is his personal secretary speaking. Even though I certainly don't get paid enough for this job. He's kinda busy right now so...what's up? How can I help you?"

"No, I don't think you can. I need to talk to him," the woman eventually answered after another short pause. The blonde shoved her hand into the cereal box, grabbing a handful and dropping the pieces into her mouth. God, what was going on? Had he knocked up one of them without telling her about his plans first? She _so_ wasn't ready to become an older sister. "Please tell him to call me back."

"I will. He'll call you back ASAP. Like, in a few hours or tomorrow-ish. What's your name, though?"

"Um, we haven't met and I don't think he knows who I am. Well, he can probably guess." The woman laughed, the same nervousness and uncertainty from before gently against Hanna's ear and this time, she was pretty sure she knew that chuckle from...somewhere. "I'm calling from my-"

"Look, I told you he'd call you back, okay? I already have your phone number right here. I don't wanna hear your life story. I just need your freaking name," she cut the woman off, raising her eyebrows at her sudden rudeness.

The woman appeared to be equally surprised, or maybe shocked was a better word, because it took her another long second to respond and when she did, her tone was ice cold. "I'll make sure to tell Mr. Cavanaugh how friendly his personal assistant is or whatever the hell you are," she said and Hanna found herself rolling her eyes again. "If you make sure to tell him that Ashley Marin called."

Oh.

It wasn't anything like in those shitty Lifetime movies where people found their birth parents by accident—because that's how she thought of herself. Adopted child. Foster kid. Sad misunderstood and extraordinarily beautiful orphan girl with superpowers and a tragic past. She didn't gasp or drop her phone, she didn't whisper a timid "Mom," her heartbeat didn't speed up and there was no awfully convenient thunderstorm going on outside either. For the most part, she felt anger.

Being arrested for stealing a library book seemed like a good option right about now. Hell, she would have given anything to be kidnapped by the military. Those uniforms were hot. Even dealing with Toby's ex-girlfriends looked pretty appealing. Better than dealing with..._Ashley Marin_, anyway.

So she did what any sane person in her position would have done. She hung up without a word; without asking her any of the whiny question that used to keep her awake for days, all those years ago; without demanding answers and choking back tears she could feel brewing somewhere inside; without wondering out loud if the woman had the same faint dimple in her lower back.

Hanna simply hung up and went back to her cereal. Toby asked her about it, later, running a towel through his hair and shaking like a dog and she feigned a smile, added a groan, when he didn't look convinced, and mumbled something about _wrong numbers_ and _prank calls_.

Like any sane person in her position would have done.

He regarded her worriedly, then his own phone started ringing in his hand and the corners of his mouth turned into a sheepish grin, his voice dropping sort of flirtatiously, sort of teasingly, as he accepted the call and for the time, Hanna was really, _really_ glad that that crazy woman of his existed.

Because he was far too busy talking to her to notice that she had disconnected the phone from the wall.

Yeah, maybe that was a_ bit_ of an overreaction but really, who could blame her?

* * *

><p>They were supposed to meet around eight—which meant that she was going to be there at seven fifty-eight or <em>maybe<em> seven fifty-nine—at that little restaurant downtown he'd walked past once or twice before. It had quite impressive French windows but overall, it was nothing too fancy. In fact, he had the feeling that they were going to seem a bit out of place among all those baby-faced grad students the restaurant's main clientele apparently consisted of. But he'd looked it up online earlier that day and it looked...well, it looked nice.

So even though it probably wasn't the best location for the first...second...the best setting for _a_ date and even though he'd carefully avoided thinking too much about Hanna's and his eventual return to Seattle and what that meant for his non-existent future with Spencer, he was actually looking forward to the night. Until, at seven twenty-two, he got a call from the brunette who sounded unusually distressed. "I have a slight problem," her frantic voice came, and could he _please please please_ come pick her up?

He automatically agreed but problems in _his_ world, as a rule, implied bad news. A vampire nest, a nasty demon who had managed to escape from patrol, a warlock or a witch with a dark-grayish white and most likely bloody agenda or a random pile of dead bodies. In the ladies room. With a cryptic message written on the mirror. In lipstick. Sometimes, on his lucky days, it was all of it. He had to keep reminding himself that Spencer wasn't exactly part of his world, the world he and Hanna lived in, watchers as parents or not, and that her biggest worry was probably a flat tire.

But problems in her world meant bad news, too. Just not the demonic or supernatural kind. Much worse. Much, _much _worse. He spent almost all of the long ride there with a frown, glancing at the address she'd given him and wondering what on earth she was doing in suburbia. Maybe her vehicle had unexpectedly broken down on her way home from work, he thought as he drove past a few very nice-looking houses and a couple of people in tracksuits walking their dogs, like taken straight out of a cheap magazine. Toby grimaced. Was this hell? This _had_ to be hell.

He pulled to a stop in front of a small white two-story home with an overgrown messy front lawn that looked like an intruder next to the much friendlier houses on the street and briefly checked the address again. And again. No, this was right. His eyes followed an overweight man in his fifties jogging by his car, wheezing and coughing. He had the right house. This was right. Even though it felt terribly wrong.

Now impatient to get out of there, he blindly reached for his cell phone, wanting to shoot Spencer a message and tell her that he was waiting outside but then he spotted her. He hadn't seen her at first. She was clad in dark colors, like she always was, kind of blending in with the darkness of the night around her but there she sat, on the sidewalk, long legs crossed, leaning her back against the fence behind her and not paying any attention to the jogger who gave her a disapproving look before he climbed over her feet with a lot more passive aggressiveness than necessary.

The brunette exhaled visibly when she met his gaze, relief settling over her features, and rose from the ground, wiping the dust and dirt off her pants and pulling her shirt and jacket into place in one slick motion. Then she started walking towards him, only stopped by a figure appearing in the doorway of the house he was parked in front of. A teenaged girl with fair hair approached the older woman with almost-flying steps, grabbing her by the elbow when she tried to ignore her.

They talked for a bit and if their faces were anything to go by, it wasn't a very pleasant conversation. Spencer kept throwing uneasy glances at the now closed front door, then back at the blonde, taking in what she had to say with a blank expression. Toby didn't think he'd seen the girl before but there was a certain familiarity to her posture. She stood straight, arms crossed tightly over her chest, not to distance herself from the older woman, he realized, but to express and emphasize her superiority. He had seen it before, the chilling fierceness that surrounded her. A fierceness he didn't think any girl her age should possess. A small, challenging and mocking smile on her lips; attentive eyes flitting back and forth between his car and Spencer, then back and forth between the house and the brunette, taking in her surroundings and processing information pretty damn and _scarily_ fast. He'd seen it all before. Not to the same extent, of course, and it had never made him as uncomfortable as the girl currently did, although she was outside his car and roughly seven feet away, but he'd seen it before.

Toby inwardly cursed himself for not having thought of it on his way here. Suburbia. Of course. She'd once said that everything was about her family one way or another and he guessed that the _slight problem_ she'd hastily muttered into her phone about was most likely family-related, too. He watched the two women, trying to find more similarities between them but failing. They looked nothing alike and suddenly he understood where the expression _as different as night and day_ came from. Both sisters moved in for an immensely tense hug before they changed their minds halfway and settled for squeezing the others hand. It seemed as though that was too much intimacy as well because not even a second later, they let go of each other again, exchanging a few more words he couldn't hear. The blonde raised her eyebrows and looked over at Toby, waggling her fingers at him with a half-smirk. The brunette slapped her hand down none too gently.

The girl shrugged and rolled her eyes at her older sister, then spun around to strut back to the house behind them as Spencer finally walked over to his car, opening the passenger door with an irritated scoff that made him grin. Her eyes searched his after she closed the door and fastened the seat-belt, her gaze softening a little, lips turning into the tiniest of smiles, as to silently offer an apology. Toby shook his head in response. She had absolutely nothing to be sorry for.

Pressing a hand to her eyes, elbow resting against the door, she made a small noise in her throat that was both annoyance and exhaustion. "Can you...just...drive? I don't care where we go. I just _really_ need to get out of Ohioan Stepford," she said, staring at a passer-by gloomily. "I hate this place so much."

"Sure," he nodded, already staring the car before she had finished her sentence. It earned him another warm albeit strained smile. He could feel the tension radiating off of her; she was anxious and frustrated, maybe even hurt, and he wasn't sure what to make of it. Coughing slightly, he decided to go for some innocent small talk. "So, uh, the Antichrist. She seems nice."

"Mmhm. Real nice. I guess even the she-devil takes a day off every now and then."

He smiled at her choice of words, always amused by the way she talked about her little sister and threw a sideways glance in her direction. She was still rubbing her forehead, though, shoulders pulled up and avoiding him. "Wanna talk about what happened? You sounded pretty upset on the phone."

"I'm a horrible person, that's what happened."

"No, you're not," he disagreed, shaking his head. "Why would-"

A cool snort cut him off. "Well, you don't know me. You don't know what kind of person I am," she snapped and dropped her hand from her face to give him a look. "So I would _really_ appreciate if you could just stop whatever you're trying to do."

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I don't. But I know _people_ and I recognize a horrible person when I see one. And I know _you_ well enough to say that you're definitely not one of them," he replied with a casual shrug. "Look, I don't know what happened back there and I realize that it's none of my business but it's okay to be sad about it. Or hurt. Or angry."

"I'm not-"

"You're doing it again."

Brown eyes narrowed down at him. "Doing what?"

Sighing, he stopped the car. They hadn't left the smallish neighborhood yet, her brother's house only a few miles away, but the street they were now on was pretty much abandoned. The brunette stared at the school building on their right, then back at him, crossing her arms.

"Doing _that_. Closing off. Getting defensive. You don't have to tell me anything you're not comfortable with. I just want you to know that it's okay if you do. And that it's okay to feel bad about something and then _move on_." She glared at him some more. "I've been watching you beat up yourself for what happened between you and your family for weeks. And, correct me if I'm wrong since I don't know you, but you seem to have the slight tendency to take the blame for every single thing that is wrong in the world. People make mistakes, Spencer. It's only human. And then they move on."

Shock came, then amazement, fury, acceptance. She went through all of it in less than ten seconds and he understood that she was most likely not used to people not backing off and leaving her alone when she withdrew. He was confirmed in that theory when her eyes met his again and she merely blinked at him, genuinely taken aback by the abrupt turn their conversation had taken.

Then they sat in silence, a minute or two or five, he wasn't sure, and he felt the unspoken words between them, making it hard to breathe; the things she _wanted_ to say but for some reason wouldn't take about, and risking another look at her, seeing her sit there, lost in thought, he was about to give up and start the car again, drive them wherever she wanted to go, when she finally raised her head and asked, "What if you're wrong? What if I'm guilty and the only one to blame? What if my mistakes are the only reason every person I care about gets hurt? That does make me a horrible person, doesn't it?"

"My mom died when I was twelve," he said. Her eyes softened at once and he found himself suddenly very interested in the steering wheel. "We were close and the years after that were hard for me. When I was fifteen, my grief turned into pretty embarrassing teenage rebellion and I started hanging out with the wrong crowd. Older guys, mostly. We did some really stupid stuff. Stuff teenagers do. Staying out all night, not coming home for days, listening to obnoxious music and thinking we were making a political statement...being a huge disappointment to our families."

It got a small, raspy laugh out of her and he grinned. "And then, one day, one of these guys, I think his name was Jonah or Jonas or something, thinks it would be a _great_ idea to, uh, rob this gas station-"

"_You robbed a gas station?!_"

"No," he shot back, frown melting into another smile when she started laughing again. "I was only driving the car. I wasn't involved in the actual robbing. And I didn't wanna be there, anyway."

She continued giggling delightfully. "Oh my god. You actually robbed a gas station. And here I thought that the biggest crime you ever committed was accidentally stepping on someone's foot or something."

"I'm not finished yet. What I'm trying to say here is that everyone makes mistakes," he continued loudly over her adorable snicker, "and that you can either learn from it and grow into a better person or you don't. Simple as that."

"And what valuable lesson did you learn from robbing a gas station?"

Toby smirked a bit as she grasped his arm and took in a breath to calm herself. "Well, for starters, the most useful lesson I leaned back then would be...don't rob a gas station. And don't drive the getaway car for your so-called friends either," he answered easily. "Please do me a favor and don't ever tell Hanna about this or else she's gonna think I'm a huge hypocrite because the other day, I took her fake ID away and don't plan on giving it back."

"I won't. I promise," she said quickly. "But you know what? Now I really wanna know how that gas-station-robbing teenage rebel from your story ended up becoming a watcher."

"Another time. Trust me, that story isn't as interesting as it sounds." He grimaced. "You still haven't told me why you think you're a horrible person, though."

She returned his grimace, scrunching up her nose. "I just am. I said some really mean and hurtful stuff tonight. Like, _really_ mean stuff. And one part of me actually meant it and I...I don't know. What kind of person does that make me?"

"I guess it makes you human," he responded. When she rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner, as though to tell him that this was not the answer she had wanted to hear, he rolled his eyes as well. "No, it does. I'm not going to sit here and agree with you for the sake of agreeing with you. You're not the first person to say some mean stuff and you're certainly not the last. You don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders."

There was that crooked smile again, the same smile he'd seen on her sister's lips. "You have no idea."

"Yeah, I don't, and like I said, you don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. But you're kind and you're incredibly smart and gentle and warm and you have a big heart. I mean, you're a kindergarten teacher and you like _horses_. Anyone who likes horses and kids can't be a bad person. So unless you're actually a serial killer, like Hanna says you are, I won't stop trying to convince you that you're not a horrible person. Everyone makes mistakes, does mean stuff...robs a gas station or two...but you and your brother will make up again, I'm sure. That's what families do. I think. That's what I learned from movies at least."

"How can you be so optimistic about everything?"

"I don't know. Someone has to be, I guess. The world's already a bad enough place. I gotta believe that it can get better and that everything will work out just fine in the end." He glanced down at their now intertwined hands, casually resting on her thigh, and wondered when he'd put it there. "Why are _you_ so pessimistic about everything?"

Spencer gave a defeated shrug, exhausted eyes following his gaze. "I'm not," she said in a voice that left no room for discussion. She was tired of their conversation. "I'm not pessimistic. I'm a realist. You know people because you're able to see the best in them, and that's really kind of admirable, but I know people because I can see the worst in them. Including myself."

He didn't know what to say and it seemed as though she wasn't very interested in continuing that particular topic. She let go of his hand again, leaving him cold and yearning, and reached for her handbag. "I appreciate it though. I really do. Thank you. That was good for my ego, to be honest," she said and handed him a black something. "Anyway, this is for you."

Slightly puzzled, he took the cassette from her, not knowing what he was supposed to do with it, before he looked back into her cheerful dark browns. "What's this?"

"Uh...it's a tape? A couple of weeks ago, you said you had a cassette deck in your car." As if to prove her point, she grabbed the item out of his loose grasp, leaned forward in her seat and pushed the tape into the player without further ado. Then she turned on the radio and grinned at him brightly. "See?"

"No...what _is_ this?"

Her eyebrows shot up and when an amused smirk followed, he got the feeling that she knew exactly what he was talking about. Still, she was Spencer, the woman whose name he had only found out after three months of frustrating vagueness and constant disappearing acts. So the non-answer that came wasn't really surprising.

"That would be _Bohemian Rhapsody_," she explained. She tilted her head and furrowed her brows at him accusingly. "Wait. Please don't tell me you don't know this song. Everyone knows _Bohemian Rhapsody_. Everyone loves _Bohemian Rhapsody_. I mean,_ I_ do! And I don't even like Queen!"

Although he felt his mouth open and close multiple times, a perfect imitation of a fish out of water and wasn't that the most fitting figure or speech he had _ever_ thought of, no sound came out of it. A strange mixture of abrupt and burning hot affection and complete confusion surged through him at once.

Spence fidgeted in her seat nervously, avoiding his gaze, and hastily added, "You said you liked Rock music, right? Well, I prefer Jazz but my brother always used to tell me that I'm a huge nerd who would end up getting shoved into a locker if I didn't acquire at least _some_ basic music knowledge. So I do know a few artists. And, well, uh, there's a Pink Floyd song on that tape. And The Doors. Jimi Hendrix...uh, no, sorry, The Jimi Hendrix Experience."

"You made me a mixtape," he stated.

"No, I _gave_ you a mixtape." Her voice was back to its usual teasing tone, nonchalant and light, and another casual shrug completed the picture she'd carefully arranged, head resting against the window, arms crossed, leisurely this time, soft smile, eyes holding his with determination, as though she was daring him to look away first and really, she was exceptionally good at it. At pretending. So good that it filled him with uneasiness and worry, somehow. So good that he probably would have fallen for it if she hadn't been waggling her foot tensely, the fingers of her right hand drumming against her left arm over and over.

She cleared her throat, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. "Eight years ago, I think...yeah, eight years ago, I was in a really, really, _really_ awful place, emotionally. And my family, like most families, didn't know how to deal with, um, depression...they didn't know how to deal with, well,_ me_. Also, we're generally not very good at emotion...stuff, anyway, and prefer bottling it up and never talking about it again. It's in our genes."

Again, she cleared her throat and looked out of the window. "One night, I came home late and my brother was still up and waiting for me, and I thought he was mad would give me a lecture about sneaking out but instead, I got that tape. We didn't have a meaningful talk about it or anything. Like I said, really bad at emotion stuff. And it's not like it _fixed_ any of my problems. It's just a bunch of oldies and feel good songs, basically. But when things get rough and unfair and ugly, I listen to it. It's a nice distraction and kind of cheers me up sometimes...and...well..."

But she trailed off unexpectedly, turning her head back to him, checking his reaction to her words, her wondering and truthful gaze boring into his with a barely there pout that didn't change into one of her entertained smiles, toothless grins or even playful smirks. He thought of clothes being thrown into oblivion, silky-smooth skin under his fingertips and tongue, he thought of drunk kisses shared on his sofa and her nails clawing at his back, urging him closer, he thought of mewls and groans and her glorious warmth engulfing him, bare torsos, and hearts beating in sync as heaving breaths mingled together. They had been with each other in the most intimate way possible and yet, the intimacy of this very moment was unlike anything he'd experienced with her before.

"And you're better now?" he eventually asked. He knew there was no need to talk all quiet-like; they were alone in his car, not a single soul outside either except for some birds. It was somehow heavy, though, the comfortable setting between them and it felt wrong to talk above a mere soft whisper.

Apparently, she felt the same way. Eyes earnest now, big and innocent and entirely focused on his, she hummed and said, in the same tone, a low murmur, "Yes. And no. Some days are better than others and some days are worse. But I don't think about running away anymore. That's something, I guess...right?"

Toby couldn't tell if running away was just a fancier and more appropriate metaphor for death and if he had to be perfectly honest with himself, he really wasn't sure whether he wanted to hear the answer to that particularly invasive question. Scratching at his chin, he regarded her for a moment, kind of amazed by the fact that she was still maintaining eye contact even though he could very well see how uncomfortable she was. "You know, I'm glad to hear that and you're right, that _is_ something," he said, then, glancing at the car radio just as The Monkees' _I'm A Believer_ started playing. "But that cassette...that mixtape is important to you and you're-"

"Oh no, hold on. Don't flatter yourself, Cavanaugh," she interrupted him teasingly and shot him a smile. "You don't get to _keep_ that tape. It's still mine. But you said that life's being hard on you at the moment, what with your soul-sucking evil sister Jenna and the mess you're in at work so I thought that you might need it more than I do. I trust you enough to keep it safe for me until I want it back."

There were a lot of things he _should_ have said. He should have told her that he and Hanna were leaving for Seattle soon and that this wasn't going to work out. That he couldn't possibly accept the mixtape her brother had made for her and that obviously meant more to her than she was willing to let on. That _he_ was the horrible person who didn't deserve her kindness and who certainly didn't deserve to be looked at the way she kept looking at him, like he had all the answers to questions he'd never heard, because even in this moment of tenderness, all he could _really_ think about was moving closer and kissing her over and over until her frown was finally gone.

"Thank you," he heard himself say. "That's the nicest non-gift I've ever gotten."

Spencer didn't seem to notice his inner brooding, though. "Wow, look at us, bonding over our screwed up pasts and family issues," she mused. "_Louis, I think this is the beginning of-"_

She didn't get to finish her ramblings, her gasp muffled by his lips gently pressing against hers. Feeling her freeze in his embrace, he moved to pull back hastily, already thinking of an apology and regretting his uncharacteristically rash and bold decision but her warm hands stopped him as they slowly made their way up his arms, ghosting over his shoulders and neck until they found his face, one of them cupping his cheek softly, the other lost in his hair, trying to pull him closer.

He couldn't tell who deepened the first first; didn't know if she was the one who clutched onto his jacket impatiently until he relented and climbed into her seat, forcing them into the most awkward position he'd ever been in, but then there they were, in a car in suburban hell, kissing each other while she gave a few girlish laughs in-between, Guns N' Roses sang _Sweet Child O' Mine_ and he tried his best not to think about what was inevitably going to happen to them in a few weeks, tried his best not to feel guilty and like a complete asshole but, of course, failed miserably.

* * *

><p>She couldn't sit still after that phone call, mind constantly going places she seriously didn't feel like visiting. They went to see a movie, after she suggested doing something <em>fun<em> and _coupley_, and spent most of leisurely making out with each other, then holding hands and sharing popcorn and doing all kinds of cutesy stuff, and she thought that it would calm and sooth these _ugh_-worthy emotions inside her. It had to. But it didn't.

Granted, she _was_ a little less antsy, later, when they were on their way back home, his skilled and always so gentle fingers that were rubbing circles on the back of her hand and the song playing on the car radio lulling her into a trance-like numbness. But the feelings inside her remained and it was only on that night that Hanna Marin finally understood the true meaning of the world restlessness.

Her throat was dry, tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth, head heavy and light and fuzzy, unable to concentrate, heartbeat like a thousand annoyingly loud drums in her head, going in a strong, steady and regular rhythm, although it felt as though that awful, useless thing would break her chest any minute now. But, nope, everything was alright with her. She'd counted twice, then counted again, just to be sure. Nothing unusual with her heartbeat. Nothing unusual with Hanna. Apparently, she wasn't shaking either because surely Caleb would have mentioned something about that already, right?

So that was most likely her anxiety kicking in again, like Google had told her a couple of hours ago after she'd put in her symptoms. Or maybe it was some sort of deadly and unpronounceable disease that was going to kill her in a few months. According to that other website, anyway. Both of these options didn't sound very pleasant to her but at least there was something that could be done about disease and sickness. Bad-tasting pills and a heartfelt speech at her inevitable funeral when she crossed the finish line. Dealing with her emotions and the stupid thing that was _causing_ her stupid anxiety? Well, that wasn't the Hanna idea of fun.

She wasn't used to situations like these and frankly, it was awfully rude of her birth moth...of that _woman_ to come knocking at her door after Hanna had thought that the endless days and nights of worrying and thinking hard about a solution to problems that weren't hers were finally over. Hell, they were leaving soon. Going back home. She'd even found a nice and affordable houseboat for her and her boys. They were supposed to be _done_ with tiresome and complicated family drama—incredibly fucked up family drama of the DiLaurentis kind, emotionally-draining family drama of the Cavanaugh kind and now _Ashley Marin_ seemingly thought it would be a great idea to bring in some Marin drama herself because why the hell not? What was she thinking, barging in like that and disturbing Hanna's inner peace, making her feel things she didn't want to feel?

And right now, she didn't know what to do to make _that_ go away again. Typically, when things bothered her, she shrugged them off. If she didn't want to be angry anymore, she stopped being angry and moved on. If she didn't want to be sad, she rolled her eyes and stopped being sad. If she didn't want to cry because, seriously, her make-up was absolutely on point on six out of seven days and no way she'd ever let some petty cap ruin her flawlessness, thank you, she simply didn't cry. Of course, there were exceptions to that rule; like that Restroom Thing that had left a bitter taste in her mouth. Some cases required a bit more work. Ice cream usually did the trick. Retail therapy if Toby was up for it and gave into her pleas and pouts. Some relentless killing at the local cemetery. Just regular girly stuff.

She liked to think that she was far less damaged than the other slayers she had met who'd been forced to leave their families at a young age. After all, none of these poor girls had ever had a strong maternal figure in _their_ lives, which, as Hanna had leaned after some more Googling, was beneficial to a child's emotional development. Whatever that meant. Hanna and her first watcher, however, they'd been close. Real close. They'd had an unbreakable bond. She knew a lot of personal stuff about dear Mrs. Rodriguez. The woman had been fluent in Portuguese and Spanish, an avid soccer fanatic, and liked many...things. Probably. Anyway, they'd been _close_. But the watcher had had her own way of dealing with Hanna's temper and that usually consisted of throwing some funny Japanese words for fighting moves at her which she had always found ridiculous, even at seven-years-old. And other times, when she'd come home from school, in a awfully bad mood and mad at her classmates, Mr. Rodriguez would take her aside, squint at her through his thick glasses and say things like, "_Hija_, you will not be punished for you anger. You will be punished _by_ your anger," to which she'd always replied with a very confused, "Huh?"

The closest she'd ever come to a makeshift therapy session with her current mentor, that talk they'd had in her bedroom last week and yesterday's hug _not_ included, was after her first boyfriend had broken up with her. Toby had faithfully sat by her side for hours, then, barely stifling his obvious dismay at having to watch _The Notebook_ yet again, patting her shoulder and telling her that the boy who broke her heart wasn't worth the tears.

Which: true. He hadn't been worth it. But that wasn't the point. Because as sweet and wonderful as he was, she knew that Toby was so messed up from his past she still didn't know much about—and was totally going to get out of him—that he didn't exactly know how to deal with _bad stuff_. He tried, though. He always tried to console her, cheer her up, be _there_ for her but teaching someone else how to do something you didn't know how to do yourself...that apparently was harder and more complicated than it sounded.

Luckily, she thought, luckily she didn't need that, anyway. She wasn't like Toby. Or Katrina Wallace. Or Shana whatsherface. Or Cleveland Girl. Or like the other slayers. She wasn't messed up. Damaged goods. Broken beyond repair. Everything was fine. She was _fine_.

...and she was about to move across the country and live with her boyfriend of three and something months who she hadn't even _really_ slept with yet because something inside her still resisted vehemently, not comfortable with the idea of willingly leading someone into the bizarre inner world of...well, Hanna. Because no matter how much she wanted to—and god, she _did_ want to; coming undone, losing control in a heap of sweet breaths, sweat and pleasurable stickiness did nothing to ease that desperate tingly ache deep within—something inside her almost always froze up whenever she and Caleb went too far. He was understanding, always, not pushing her into doing anything she wasn't okay with; she, in turn, just wished that she could stop being such a baby about it. Sex wasn't a big deal. She also wished that the slayer in her would shut her mouth because that freaking bitch wasn't helpful, forever whispering that she was letting herself become an easy target, the vulnerable prey instead of the dangerous predator she was designed to be, that she was giving up too much of herself, clinging too much, hoping too much, loving too much. Because people never stayed, right? They left. Or they died. Or they did both. And sometimes they chose some girl they'd met in a bar over her. People _never_ stayed. That was one of the four constants in her life.

Alright, maybe she wasn't fine. Maybe she was a _little_ messed up. On a messed up scale from Olivia Stevenson to Cleveland Girl and family, she was probably an Emily Fields. Which wasn't that bad. And totally not her fault. If anyone was to blame, it was _Ashley Marin_.

Hanna had checked her out on Facebook after the phone call, kind of wondering how she'd avoided doing it for so long as she clicked through the woman's profile pictures with a sour facial expression, kind of pleased with Past Hanna's decision to sign up under a fake last name to avoid running into of her blood relatives. So she was Hanna_ Cavanaugh_ on Facebook, which had a really nice ring to it and came with the promise of staying hidden behind semi-anonymity and thus, far, far away from certain people who had pretty much ignored her all her life and were now _rudely_ contacting her watcher.

_Ashley Marin_ worked at a bank, a job that seemed like it paid well, meaning that she wasn't trying to get in touch with Hanna for money. Hopefully. She also looked good and healthy in her recently uploaded selfie—that woman truly knew how to work her angles—which meant that she didn't want Hanna's kidney either. Again: hopefully. Because she liked her kidneys. As far as she knew, she didn't have any siblings either. At least that's what she'd gathered a couple of years ago, when she'd called one of her old great-aunts and pretended to be doing a telephone survey for marketing purposes. It was easier than having to admit that she only wanted to know what her biological parents were up to these day and if they had moved on with their lives as if they'd never had a daughter. So being a donor for one of her non-existent siblings was highly unlikely, too. What did that woman want from her? Why was she contacting her _now_?

She could easily picture a potential conversation between them, somewhere in Pennsylvania, where the woman still lived, according to her Facebook. _Ashley_ saying something along the lines of, "I've been searching for you everywhere," and starting to sob. Hanna feigning nonchalance and going into slayer mode, just coolly answering, "I've been right here for years, Ashley. How hard did you look?"

Well, she had to admit, that _was_ kind of satisfying. Maybe, if she kept doing it for a day or two or hundred, making up scenarios she left as the victor, she'd eventually get over that phone call.

Caleb squeezed her thigh, then began massaging her flesh, causing her to snap out of her monolog and glance up at him, a tiny bit confused. He didn't seem to have noticed her inner ranting, still focused on the dark road ahead. She eyed him for a long beat, fingernails lightly grazing the skin on his arm as she let her hungry gaze wander across his features shamelessly, finding comfort in the familiar planes of his truly adorable face.

"That doesn't make sense," he suddenly said. That confused her some more until she remembered that they'd been talking about something important before she zoned out.

"Well, mister, _your face_ doesn't make sense either and you don't hear me complaining, do you?"

"I'm just saying..."

"Pfft."

"Let's be rational about this, okay? Please. In what universe, exactly, would Black Widow be able to defeat Superman? He is _Superman_, Hanna. An icon. A legend. You haven't even seen any of the Superman movies or read a single comic book. I don't think you're qualified enough to make statements like that just because you have huge girl crush on Scarlett Johansson."

Dramatically rolling her eyes, she shot her boyfriend a pointed look when he started shaking his head at her. "I don't need to watch his stupid movies. In the _real _world, Black Widow would totally kick his ass, fuck superpowers, because in the _real_ world, girls are much cooler than boys. I mean, duh. Slayers are girls, remember? Which makes my gender ten times more awesome than yours," she explained to him patiently. "And don't drag ScarJo into this."

He gave her another smile, then turned his head to face the road once more. "Anyway, since we're kinda moving there soon, I'd like to know what to expect in Washington. What's Seattle like? Grungy, geeky hippies being politically correct, smoking weed and drinking lots of coffee on a bus in the rain?"

"Ha, ha," she replied dryly. "Don't do that in Seattle, though. And, for your information, Mr. Rivers, it doesn't actually rain _that _much over there. I've heard New York is much worse. You Californian people are all the same. Toby thinks it's freezing when it's sixty-five degrees. Like, seriously?"

"But I'm not really_ from _California. Foster child, remember? I grew up pretty much everywhere."

She nodded, flashing him a wide grin. "Right. Foster child with a tragic back-story. Just like me," she babbled, looking at his hand that was resting on her thigh. "What was it like? For you, I mean?"

"What was what like?"

"Talking to your real parents again. What was that like?"

He shrugged. "Confusing and strange in a bad way. Confusing and strange in a good way. Then confusing and strange in a bad way again," he answered, throwing a brief glance at her. "Why are you asking?"

"I don't know. Just asking, I guess. We never really talked about it before and..." the blonde slayer halted abruptly. She had turned her head the other way the moment he'd looked at her, pretending to be following the road instead of meeting his meaningful gaze. He always looked at her like that, like she was an open book, like he could see right through her—and maybe, she thought, maybe she could—but right now, it didn't matter because right now, they were passing a warehouse-like building...thing. Big, gray, most likely abandoned years ago and empty, by the looks of it. She'd been here before. "Stop the car."

"Is that your way of avoiding my question?"

"No. Just—ugh, stop the car."

And, giving her a weird look that was somewhat judging, a bit questioning and a whole lot of confusion, he did. In a flash, she unbuckled her seat-belt, completely ignoring the fact that they were practically in the middle of the road, opened the door and sprinted off without glancing back to check if Caleb was following. She could hear the almost inaudible curse word that escaped his lips when he stumbled over his feet, once again failing at keeping up with the pace of his girlfriend. She wanted to laugh about it, too, an unattractive snort and some giggles, and tell him that he was possibly the cutest cutie pie in the history of cutie pies but instead, she kept silent.

Because she needed to do some Nancy Drew-like things first.

With a frown, she inched closer to the building, Caleb trailing behind her lazily, and hooked her fingers into the rusty chain-link fence that surrounded the area. The boarded-up windows that had a serious zombie apocalypse feeling to them made the warehouse look like it was winking at her. She tilted her head. Yeah, it was winking at her. Kind of. Other than that, nothing interesting happened. No damsels in distress. No vampires. No zombies. Absolutely nothing.

"What's going on?"

"It's nothing," she answered, facing away from him. "I just had a weird déjà vu moment."

He merely repeated his question, firmly this time. "What is going on?"

Hanna sighed. They hadn't even scratched the surface of _that_ stupid topic yet and she was already beyond tired of it. But then she remembered the promise she'd made herself when things started between them, how she wanted to be honest and truthful this time around, unlike in any of her previous relationships where she always had to lie about one part of her life or another. It didn't help that she could never keep stuff from him for too long, anyway. For one thing, she had a pretty big mouth and always ended up accidentally spilling secrets and private thoughts she _actually_ didn't want anyone to know about; and for another thing, he was really smart and usually figured out stuff all on his own.

This was stupid.

Mature relationships _sucked_.

"Okay, remember how I said that my biological parents died in a car crash when I was baby and that my first watcher raised me? That was a lie. Sort of," she mumbled. "The Council took me away from then when I was, like, five...wow, what a complete non-reaction. So you already knew about that. _So_ not cool, Caleb. Don't go around reading C's journal about me. That's rude. Anyway, so my parents are alive or whatever and my birth mom called me today and we talked and I only realized who she was when she said her name and I'm..."

"Confused?" he suggested.

"More like angry," she huffed, crossing her arms. "Don't worry, though. I swear I'll be fine once we're back in Seattle. Are we done now? I don't feel like talking about this any longer."

The back of her neck prickled briefly and she pulled up her shoulders at the unpleasant feel, as she heard him exhale before he replied, "Han, I've been there before and I know it's—_ungh_."

"Ungh?" the blonde echoed, confused, knitting her brows together and spun around; her boyfriend was there still and seemed to be fine, albeit a bit wobbly on his feet after the sudden impact, and now holding an uncontrollably shaking mess of dark hair, slender white limbs and tiny sobs in his arms.

The couple exchanged a look with each other, communicating without words but, as it turned out, they didn't have to because the woman in Caleb's arms raised her head from his shoulder and spoke, a desperate tint to her tone, "They're trying to hurt me. They're gonna hurt me. Help me. _Please_."

Ah. So there was her damsel in distress. Finally. Had taken her long enough, hadn't it? And there was Slayer Hanna, too, she thought as she straightened herself up, ready for blood. It was a nice distraction from the emotional tornado she'd talked herself into and most likely would have to go back to once the girl was saved from whatever demon was after her, at least judging by Caleb's raised eyebrow.

Ugh.

Whatever.

Then it happened. The big thing she'd been waiting for. As gently as possible, because the woman was clinging to Caleb like crazy, burying her face in his shoulder, seeking protection and shelter, Hanna touched the brunette's back to console her, to let her know what everything was okay now, that she was safe—and the moment skin met fabric, she withdrew her hand again. Her neck was tickling furiously and her muscles felt stiff but underneath that was...recognition?

"Caleb," Hanna said slowly, searching her boyfriend's eyes. "I think I know who this is."

The woman must have felt it, too. She whirled around at once, brown eyes roaming over Hanna's features with curiosity and wonder, salty tears gone as though she'd never spilled any. "You're a slayer."

It was unexciting, this meeting she'd been looking forward to. Finally coming face to face with the woman whose memories kept haunting her day and night. She looked nothing like Hanna had imagined her; where she'd expected soft dimpled cheeks, she found hard contours; where she was sure she'd see despair and grief, the kind of grief she'd been forced to live through, again and again, every single night, for _weeks_, she was met with a smugness that would have put Jenna's holier-than-thou act to shame. The arrogant half-smirk was the same, of course, just like the subtle arch of her dark and perfectly trimmed eyebrow. There was something amiss, though. She'd always assumed that she'd feel this great big connection when they touched, their gazes locked, when they stood in front of each other.

But...again, nothing. Other than recognition and the weird feeling like she was responsible for this girl, like she was supposed to protect her, keep her safe, there was nothing.

Caleb had come to the same conclusion. "Cleveland Slayer?

"Yeah. That's our famous Cleveland Girl," Hanna mumbled and blinked at the brunette who frowned and seemed to be highly offended, somehow, so the blonde slayer added, "I mean...Cleveland _Woman_."

A friendly and warm smile spread across Cleveland Slayer's face at that and Hanna decided that she didn't need any more confirmation, ready to throw that insane woman into Caleb's car, force her to cooperate until the couple could drop her off at Mrs. S' doorstep and let _her_ handle the never-ending drama and craziness of the DiLaurentis bunch.

"Who's trying to hurt you?" Hanna asked.

"Jenna Cavanaugh."

Of course. _Of course_. Jenna _Asshole_ Cavanaugh. She'd been _so _right about this. That evil bitch. She deserved every single scar she got and then some. Pushing the brunette behind her and shielding both her and her boyfriend, Hanna scanned the area cautiously. But the dark-haired devil didn't appear and the blonde sighed in disappointed. She'd gladly have played a round of tic-tac-toe on her ugly face.

"What now? We can't exactly drive her back to the Hellmouth," Caleb whispered in her ear.

They silently watched Cleveland Girl run a hand through her hair, wipe the blood and dirt stains off her face and slip into a _very_ familiar pair of heels that were undoubtedly Shana's. So she'd stolen them from her. Hanna felt proud of her sister slayer. But the woman sure was a fancy lady and had her priorities straight; she looked like she'd been through hell and back, deep marks on her wrists and ankles, as though someone, probably Jenna, had chained her up, fading bruises on her thin arms...and yet, she was more concerned with maintaining a proper appearance than anything else.

Hanna grimaced. "Okay, I'm sure that Tobes is gonna freak out but I'd rather she stay at our place tonight. I don't trust Jenna. We could drop her off at her brother's tomorrow morning. Or at Mrs. S'?"

"That is very nice of you but I need to see my sister first," Cleveland Girl chimed in calmly. The young couple exchanged another look. They'd been talking very quietly. That girl had some insane hearing.

"Trust me, there are a lot of people just _dying_ to meet your sister," the blonde replied warily and giggled at her joke. She was hilarious. "But not tonight. I need to get some sleep. And, don't take this the wrong way, but _you_ look like you could use a shower. Clean clothes. Maybe food."

Her face lit up. "Food sounds good."

* * *

><p>Picking her up in the middle of suburbia, having a long talk in his car, receiving a non-gift and then spending the better part of an hour kissing in front of an elementary school had been one crazy experience and he sort of assumed that they were done with the pleasant unexpected but if there was anything he learned about Spencer Hastings that night, it was that she was just full of surprises. The <em>good<em> kind of surprises at first. Until everything went to hell, that is. God, he was an idiot. A goddamn fool. But this Toby hadn't found out yet, had he, he didn't know, so the smile on his lips as he got out of his car, staring at the rundown apartment complex she'd led him to, was completely genuine.

He had a hard time imagining her living there, having a chat with her neighbors, using the elevator and briefly checking her appearance in her cell phone, gulping down a cup of coffee as she rushed down the stairs because she was late for work...it didn't _feel_ like her. Not that she was snobbish but he knew that people like them who had grown up knowing nothing about financial troubles would always carry around some of that carefully internalized attitude of the lucky upper class and honestly, she seemed like someone who sanitized her hands—_twice_—after she used her _own_ bathroom.

Or someone who color-coordinated her closet in her free time to relax, arranged her work desk to that it was messy in an _organized_ way and had all those little plants in her kitchen she never used for cooking because she didn't know how but thought they looked nice and gave the room a cozy, feminine touch.

As it turned out, she did all of it. Still, her whole presence, the way she carried herself, didn't fit with the atmosphere of the rest of the building or the spartan furnishing in her apartment. No framed photographs grinning down at him from the wall, although, from the way she kept talking about her family, he had expected plenty; no posters or pictures of foreign black and white movies with strange names; no postcards, maps or mini-versions of famous landmarks like Hanna had in her room. It was a beautiful apartment, he had to admit, much nicer than the first one he'd lived in, back in his early twenties, and the few plants, the lightning, the books that were practically _everywhere_, as if she hadn't known what to do with them once her bookcases we full, and the little drawing on her fridge which he guessed showed one of her kids, gave the place a homey feeling. But it wasn't _her_.

Crosses and crucifixes were another thing that could be found all over her apartment. He didn't know whether she was a religious person or whether it was merely the result of growing up in a watchers household and knowing too much about the creatures lurking in the dark but wherever he looked, Jesus wasn't far. She had several gold-encrusted rosaries in her living room, a wooden cross on the dining table, holy water and the silver necklace she so often wore waiting in the bathroom. Before he could find out if there was more in her bedroom, she stopped their little tour, trailing off with a sheepish sigh, and dropped her browns. Toby, too, cleared his throat awkwardly, returning her blush, and let his gaze wander, and suddenly felt ten times guiltier when, ironically, right next to _History of Dark Magic _and _The Demon Index_, he saw the Bible on her couch.

It was a slap in the face, a punch in the stomach, and his conscience woke up at once. He was pretty much agnostic. After all, as a watcher, he had no choice but to be, had to keep an open mind. Nothing was impossible. But his mother used to be an active church goer before she fell ill, dragging her daughter and her son with her every other Sunday and just as Spencer's parent's occupation had left quite an impact on the brunette, his mother's fascination with Christianity had left one on her youngest.

All these religious symbols made him very, _very_ uneasy. Exhaling deeply, he stared to his left and sure enough, there was Jesus. Judging him. Again. And rightfully so, he added grimly.

He still hadn't told her. He thought back to about an hour ago, the sound of her rapid and irregular breathing at his ear, her fingers combing through his hair wildly as he nipped tiny bites along her collarbone, causing her to emit a sigh before he soothed them with his tongue, hand traveling down her waist, dancing across her stomach and then farther down, down...

"Let's go home," she'd whispered, glancing out of the window, checking if anyone was nearby.

"Five minutes," he'd replied distractedly against her neck.

Then she'd snorted, slightly arched her hips off of the seat, granting him better access and letting him nudge apart her thighs, and shot back breathlessly, "Five minutes, huh? Someone's _very_ self-confident."

It had taken him three.

He was an asshole. The definition of jerk. A horrible, _horrible_ person. The most horrible. He didn't even know what had gotten into him earlier. The lust and attraction hadn't been new; anyone who couldn't see how gorgeous she was had to be blind. But there _was_ something completely new underneath that, too. Affection. Gratitude. A connection they had established and shaped into something more meaningful and bigger in just one night. However that was even possible. She was right, though. He barely knew her, really. But he felt like he did. She had the same comforting and wonderful familiarity of an old book he never got tired of reading.

And yet, he hadn't told her. Then again, he honestly didn't know if he was supposed to tell her that he was leaving. What were they? Were they dating? Were they exclusive? Were they just friends? Was he being foolish in assuming that they were serious enough to let her know that he wasn't going to be around much longer? And if they weren't, why was he so afraid of her reaction and feeling _so_ immensely guilty?

Toby sighed, sitting down on the couch. They were back in the living room, the tension they'd briefly slipped into in front of her bedroom door, when both of them had remembered what transpired in his car, gone. Spencer was happily talking about something he felt like he should pay attention to but no matter how much he tried, he couldn't.

His head felt heavy and filled with stuff he didn't want there and also, he thought with a slight grimace, something was digging into his back. Reaching behind him, he pulled out yet another book—_The Slayer Handbook_, he would later realize, but he didn't realize it _then_, flinching when Spencer hurried over to him and grabbed it out of his hands forcefully, stuffing it into the nearest drawer.

A picture fell out of it on her way and he bent to pick it up fast. She was using it as some kind of bookmark, apparently. It showed three girls, none of them smiling but the brown-haired girl on the left, who seemed to be the oldest, had an almost grin on her lips. Next to her was Spencer. He had trouble recognizing her at first. He'd never seen her in broad daylight before and she looked out of place, not as self-assured as she did when she walked the night. Who that older girl was, he didn't know, but the little one who glowered at the camera, obviously not very happy with having her picture taken...

"I know this girl," he said out loud although he didn't mean to.

Suddenly, Spencer spun around, confused. "What?"

When she walked over to him, he handed her the photograph. "I know this girl. The blonde."

She frowned at him, then she frowned down at her younger self. "Yeah, you do," she finally replied in a puzzled tone. "You've met her? Two hours ago? Remember? I mean, I think I'm seventeen in this so Ali must have been either six or seven and she's older now, obviously...but yeah, you know her."

He hummed lightly, looking at the picture again, and shrugged, figuring that she must be right. Six-year-old Antichrist looked surprisingly non-evil. He gazed at the older brunette again. "Who's this?"

"My sister," came her answer, a little weaker than her earlier response. "Melissa."

Now that he knew it, he could see it, too. He'd struggled to find any signs of blood relation between her and Ali, coming up with nothing except for a couple of similarities in their expressions. Spencer and Melissa, who he presumed to be the older one, on the other hand...

"How many siblings do you have, exactly?" he wondered, smiling.

The corners of her mouth twitched. "I know, don't say it, my parents were getting _really_ busy. I guess that's what happens when you don't have the internet to keep you entertained," she quipped. "They always used to tell us that we were all planned but I'm not buying it." She tilted her head. "So...not having to share you food with three other people, what was that like?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her words. "I've seen you eat, you know, and last time we had dinner, you all but strangled me because I looked at your plate the wrong way. I'm pretty sure you've never actually shared your food with _anyone_."

"Mmmmm...nope, sorry, can't remember. You're making this up."

"I'm serious. You're really scary when you're hungry," he laughed, ignoring her offended gasp and the distracting pout that followed. "I've seen slayers eat after patrol and they scare me, too. But somehow, hungry Spencer Hastings is scarier than an _army_ of hungry slayers."

She grimaced briefly, then her face fell serious. "I need to talk to you about something."

So that was his moment. He should have been grateful that she brought it up first because he knew that if it were up to him, they probably would never have that dreadful talk at all. Instead, he felt a twinge of something unidentifiable and found himself unable to look into her eyes. "Me, too, actually."

"Okay," she agreed softly, sounding confused. "But we need to talk about my thing-"

"Let me go first," he interrupted her gently. "Please. I've been meaning to do this all night."

"Yeah, well, get in line," she huffed. "Because I've been meaning to do-"

"I'm leaving."

"-this for days and I'm..." she trailed off, furrowing her brows at him. "You're what?"

"I'm leaving." God, he seriously hoped that she wouldn't make him repeat it once more because the words tasted awful in his mouth; they tasted even worse when she stepped away from him, letting go of his hands she'd started toying with a minute ago, recoiling from his touch as if he'd burned her.

"What do you mean? Are you going home? Did I do something wrong?" He saw her think, at record speed, naturally; trying to process what had happened, and it all went over so fast, he didn't get the chance to cut in and assure her that, no, it was definitely not her fault. He wasn't used to seeing her like this, anxious and fidgety, and she tried to cover it up, put on a mask of indifference the second she came to a conclusion but her words betrayed her. "Is it because of what I told you in your car?"

"What? No! Of course not!" Shaking his head, he took a step in her direction tentatively, taking it as a good sign that she didn't back away. "You didn't do anything wrong and I'm not going home. It's just...there's been some stuff happening. At school, mostly. And Jenna. And whatever the hell is out there, trying to harm Hanna and god knows who else. So we're kinda, um, going back to Seattle soon."

Her eyes were cold when they landed on his. "What stuff?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I really don't. Formerly dead, currently dangerous slayers. Passive-aggressive demon hunters. Intimidating messages written in lipstick. Jenna being Jenna...I honestly don't know and I don't want to find out how this all connects to each other. And I don't wanna know if we're supposed to be worried about that other girl as well. That crazy Cleveland sister."

"So you think I'm crazy..._too_," she added in a hiss when he blinked at her. There was definite venom in her voice now, just a few driblets she tried to hide but failed. "I told you that I used to deal with some bad things and still do, occasionally. That's what other people would describe as _crazy_. Insane. And you were all understanding and really nice about it because...because what? You wanted to get into my pants again? Well, congratulations, it worked, didn't it?" She turned, facing away from him, and said, much more quietly this time, talking to herself, "God, I'm so stupid. You're just like the rest of them."

"I don't think you're crazy, Spencer. Where are you getting this from?"

She spun back around with a scoff. "_Where am I getting this from?_ You're judging a girl you haven't even met, whose name you don't know, based on rumors and things you've heard from your little buddies and your disgusting sister at Watcher Central. You literally just called her crazy and that's...an _awful_ word. And if you talk like this about people you don't know, how can I be sure that you-"

She broke off abruptly, rubbing her forehead and took in a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go all Hulk on you. I guess I'm kinda irritated because it's been a _really_ bad day so far and that word makes me cringe." She shot him a tiny smile; he returned it hesitantly, watching her give a slight shrug and an eye-roll as if she was mad at her own reaction. "I'm just gonna change into something more comfortable and then you can tell me about Seattle, if you want. I've never been there."

"Yeah, sure," he replied, still watching her with a frown. "But you said you wanted to talk about-

"I know. Doesn't matter anymore."

Without another word, without one last glance, she was off, disappearing in her bedroom swiftly and closing the door behind her. He ran a hand through his hair and plopped back on the couch, fingers absentmindedly toying with the corner of the picture. He felt terrible, the worst he had felt in months; how was it possible that a person could screw up this badly? No, he corrected himself and sighed, how was it possible that two people who liked each other—at least he thought they did—could be so awfully good at constant miscommunication? What had he gotten himself into?

He gazed down at young Spencer again, smiling a bit at her crossed arms, the exasperated eye-roll that was merely a split second away, the Nirvana shirt, way too big on her petite frame, that looked like she'd borrowed it from a male someone, probably her brother. He gazed down at young Melissa, in her late teens at best, knee-length black skirt and frilly blue blouse, oozing the femininity of a woman in her thirties, standing tall, completely in contrast to her sister who tried to hide as much of herself as she could. They stood close to each other, he observed, but they weren't touching, almost as if they had made sure beforehand that they wouldn't be. Finally, he gazed down at young Ali, grasping the hem of Spencer's shirt with a nasty glare, either pushing her sister behind or in front of her, he couldn't tell.

It wasn't a happy picture—tension and history he could feel even now, ten years later—but someone had tried their very best to make it _seem_ like one. The trio was all dolled up, most probably an overzealous aunt or grandmother working her magic. Spencer's dark and wavy hair was pulled back into a bun so that her face, round with innocence and youth, was more visible. Melissa stood like a lady, ankles crossed. A pink butterfly-like bow on top of Ali's blonde and equally messy mane...once more, he squinted at her face curiously. No. He _definitely_ knew this girl.

But he didn't know where he'd seen her before, didn't remember...didn't _want_ to remember. Because it was easier to blame himself for the whole disaster that was their relationship, it was easier to tell himself that _he_ was the one who had gone too far, who had used her and abused her trust. To believe in her well-thought-out lies and the colorful stories she told him. To believe that everything was his fault.

So in that moment, as he shrugged and put the photograph aside, he chose to ignore it, close his eyes to the ugly truth hovering in front of him, waiting to be discovered. Although doubt kept rushing through his brains and then, later, through his heart, he simply ignored it. Like he always did.

And he should have stopped digging, stopped thinking and trying to understand. He should have knocked at her bedroom door, offering her an excuse that Hanna needed him for something, and then he should have left. He should have left and never looked back. He and Hanna would have been in Seattle again and he could have lived the lie a little longer. They would have talked on the phone sometimes, maybe seen each other once or twice a year. He could have _believed_ the fabulous Spencer Hastings show she'd written, for his eyes and ears only. Everything would have been just fine if he'd only stopped digging.

He didn't.

Because he was an idiot, falling for a woman who didn't exist.

In that moment, though, he didn't know. Yet. Completely oblivious as her phone started buzzing furiously on the wooden coffee table, announcing that someone named JC—_Jenna Cavanaugh_—was calling and demanding her immediate attention; oblivious, even, as he pulled _The Demon Index_ into his lap, not noticing the neat and tiny letters in the right corner of the first page, left there by someone with small hands—_Aria M. Montgomery_—oblivious as he skimmed through the book, his gaze meeting but refusing to read all those highlighted words and notes on each page—an entire hand-written passage on slaypires on page two-hundred-fifty-eight; drawings of the Hellmouth on page three-hundred-twenty.

It only clicked when he, bored of reading through the same index he had at home, set the leather-bound book back on the couch, picking up _History of Dark Magic_ with a small curious shrug instead. Because in there, on page four-hundred-seventy-one—_Chapter Five: Resurrection Spells, A Controversy_—she'd used another photograph as a bookmark. Later on, he would wonder if it really had been the brunette who put all these pictures there since the books didn't even belong to Spencer. Most if not all of these books were Aria Montgomery's; the woman, witch, friend, wife and _watcher_ smiled up at Toby from years ago, from the very same picture that was somewhere in his apartment, holding a little blonde girl in her lap. Not her daughter, like he and Hanna had assumed. Her sister-in-law. Ali.

And then everything fell together.

Fell _apart_.

Denial came, denial went, and was replaced by bitterness and anger when his shaking fingers took her phone, sliding over the screen, heart thumping fast, desperately trying to make up for all the moments they could have had, all the beats they could have shared and realizing too late that there were only a few minutes left.

"I've been trying to talk to you for weeks. I've treated you like a person. Like a human being you're not and this is how you repay me, Spencer? By _ignoring_ me?" his sister began angrily the moment he accepted the call. She went on and on, not expecting an answer. Maybe she was used to this. Spencer just silently, submissively, taking in whatever her watcher had to say. He felt sick to his stomach. "You can fuck whoever you want and if you seriously think it's bothering me that you're doing my brother behind my back, it really doesn't. But you and I, we had an understanding. You were supposed to stay in Cleveland. I gave you a family there with the other slayers. Because I _care_ about you. You and I both know that I'm the only person in this world who still gives a shit about you. Daddy doesn't. Big Brother doesn't. Melissa doesn't either...oh, speaking of, guess who I just ran—are you even listening to me?"

"Yes," he croaked.

"What? Who is this? Jason? Is that—_oh_." She started cackling with laughter. "Hello Toby. This has _got_ to be the best night of my life. So much stuff is happening. I wish I was there to see the look on your face, though. Hmm...tell her to call me back when you two are done with your little love drama. I have some very exciting news I would _love_ to share. And please make sure she understands that I'll break her neck if she doesn't. Goodnight."

She hung up.

And Spencer came back, dressed in something more casual now, make-up gone, suddenly looking a lot younger than she was...and fragile, vulnerable, a tiny-winged bird. Her eyes were swollen; she had been crying in her room, all alone, and he wished that he wouldn't care so much but he did. Still. Her smile faded away when she returned his stare and oh, she understood what had happened. Maybe not on a conscious level just yet but something inside her _knew_, body turning in the direction of the door, fight-or-flight response kicking in. Browns confused, Spencer gazed at her phone in his hands.

"Jenna called. She wants to talk to you," he told her, not recognizing his own voice. "It sounded pretty important. You should probably call her back. You know how she gets when people ignore her."

He felt numb as he watched her whole posture change the second he finished that sentence. It was not noticeable at first, the slight stiffening of the shoulders that carried the world, eyes hyper-alert and darting across the room, searching for the fastest way out of the situation or maybe a weapon; but he knew what he was looking for know, knew what he'd so expertly ignored for so long whenever doubt started to gnaw at his insides and he saw it all. Realized why he'd so often wondered, so often felt as though he was familiar with her, why he'd so often felt as though he knew her without knowing her.

She was all Hanna when she raised her head defiantly, meeting his blues once more, doe eyes so incredibly pure still and he didn't comprehend how she could do it so effortlessly, make him _feel_. She was Katrina when her beautiful face hardened. She was Shana and Madeline and all those other girls at school and in Seattle when she stalked closer to him, growing more confident and _dangerous_ with every step she took, before she snatched her cell phone out of his grasp wordlessly.

He'd met the girl. Sipping at her Margarita as she sat next to him, always ready to come up with another witty, clever or sarcastic remark, shooting him one or two dazzling smiles over her shoulder. He _knew_ the girl. Carefree giggles when his lips had met the back of her neck, sweet-tasting skin, tousled hair after a nap, late-night talks, whispered conversations. He knew what she looked like when she came.

But he didn't know the woman standing there. He knew her face but he didn't know her.

He had met the girl.

Now he was finally meeting the slayer.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: This is probably the first time in her entire life that people simply _forgot_ Melissa exists.

I'm an evil person, I know, but I'm laughing so hard right now, you have no idea. I'm sorry. Sorry for the pain I'll cause you, sorry for making all of them DiLaurentis just so you would believe that Dead Girl was Alison, sorry for wrapping you, Toby, and Hanna in a burrito blanket of false happiness and safety and taking it all away again. But it was bound to happen. Sorry. I love you. Please forgive me?

Poor Toby though. Poor Caleb and Hanna as well because _oh boy_, they have no fucking idea, do they? I mean at least Toby _knows_ who he is dealing with now, right? Haleb don't. Poor Haleb.

Also: Will I ever stop with all the goddamn parallels? Probably not.

Thank you so, so much for your kinds reviews, which I'll be responding to in the next update since this is insanely long already, and thanks for your patience with me. I was going through some personal stuff and had to take care of that first. I hope you understand. So, again, thanks for being awesome and thanks for reading and not, like, burying me alive for all the plot twists. You all rock.

Have a great day, my lovelies, and see you next week-ish. For reals this time.


	9. Chapter 9

**Part One**: The Cruel Sister  
><strong>Chapter 9<strong>

_4 Months Earlier_

Their first week in Ohio went by unexpectedly well. Yeah, all these rules the watchers at school kept throwing at them like footballs were _a little_ hard to memorize but he hoped they would get there eventually. He still got lost on a daily basis, navigating through the streets with the help of his cell phone he hadn't gotten used to yet and probably never would, and some of the habits they had picked up on in Seattle were hard to shake, too, like not using an umbrella when it rained, which, he had found out on day three, wasn't something they did in the Midwest.

But things were getting better. Hanna seemed to like being in charge of a town, just like she had always wanted to be, even if that came with a thousand new and extraordinarily boring responsibilities and Toby decided that he was happy as long as his slayer was. Although, if he had to be honest, he did find himself filled with a weird feeling of homesickness every now and then. This city was strange, the people were different and the watchers at school took themselves and their jobs way too seriously to his likening. Or maybe that's how all watchers were supposed to be like and handle things, and Seattle had merely made _him_ incredibly lazy. Toby wasn't so sure.

They came home one chilly night after another pretty uneventful patrol—two vampires, one sobbing human girl, no demons—and Hanna continued browsing through the magazines she had casually thrown on the kitchen table before they left. Furnishing magazines, mostly, with some _Cosmopolitan_ and _Vogue_ in-between. She wanted to make their apartment more _homey_, she kept saying, and claimed that they totally needed a few candles _there_ or maybe a cute little carpet right over _here_. He normally mumbled in agreement, never quite knowing what ridiculous request he was giving in to this time, and that night wasn't any different. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then they talked for a while—the slayer raiding the fridge for her post-patrol munchies as he leaned against the wall with crossed arms, smart enough not to intervene and make a hungry girl with superpowers angry—and Toby did a couple of things for work while Hanna painted her toenails and searched Netflix for a movie to watch.

There was a bar down the street, not too far from home, in case of a sudden emergency, but far enough to grant Hanna some well-deserved privacy and god, did he need to give her some privacy every once in a while. She had grown so comfortable around her mentor that she had started popping her pimples and shaving her legs—with _his_ razor, of course—right next to him. While he was eating dinner. He loved her, he really did, more than anything else, but there was some things he didn't necessarily feel like experiencing with her.

So he left their apartment around eleven, like he normally did, slipping into his jacket and promising the pouting blonde that he would bring her some fries when he came back, extra crispy. He walked there in a brisk pace, occasionally glancing at the restaurants and the people he passed, and arrived at his destination a good ten minutes later. Then he moved to the table in the back he was already calling _his table_ in his head, left jacket and book there, and went to get himself a drink. Thankfully, it wasn't too crowded; women and men his age everywhere, some of their faces familiar, as he had seen them once or twice before, most of them not. He got his drink, non-alcoholic tonight, had a quick conversation with a drunk man who sat on one of the bar stools, busying himself with building tiny houses out of pistachios. They talked politics or the weather or sports...something. It didn't matter. Toby wasn't exactly the social type and the man lost interest two minutes in, anyway, ordering himself yet another beer and chatting up the tattooed bartender instead.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Business as usual.

Just a regular night.

And if he had never left his belongings at that table in the first place and sat at the bar rather than sitting at his _usual _spot; if he had briefly glanced behind his shoulder before mindlessly whirling around, things might have turned out different. Completely different. Things might have stayed the same; ordinary, normal.

But Toby _had_ left his jacket and his book—some Palahniuk novel he bought a couple of days ago—at the table and was eager to get back there because he _had_ chosen his favorite spot, the one that was a bit more comfortable than the rest, the one that allowed him to read and work in peace and quiet while he sipped at his drink, hunched over various paperbacks, and he _did_ forget to check if anyone was standing behind him when he grabbed his ginger ale, throwing another look at the intoxicated babbling man to his left.

So with a small sigh, he spun around, eyebrows raised at the drunkard's awkward attempts at flirting with the now visibly annoyed bartender, and he didn't check even though he should have but he _didn't_, and there were no signs, no sirens softly singing in the distance, announcing impending danger and catastrophe and _disaster_, nothing. There was nothing. He merely turned around and crashed into her.

And then, just like that, everything changed.

"_Almost as if the universe is trying to tell us something, right?_" she would say, some weeks later. Same bar, same broad smile, another Margarita in her hands. The universe had nothing to do with it.

_She_ was a young woman in her mid-twenties, maybe, with beautifully warm dark browns gazing up at him interestedly as she gave him a half-grin, somewhat confused, staggering back several inches. Killer reflexes, too; her cocktail spilled over when they collided but none if it landed on her short black dress that clung to every curve just right. She was overdressed for a simple bar like this. Black heels that would have made Hanna proud, dark hair cascading down her exposed shoulders in loose curls, make-up like war paint, strategically placed, and everything was perfect and flawless, and it should have made him suspicious, this seemingly random encounter. Should have made him realize then and there that something wasn't right; that he was the innocent prey, looking into the endless abyss of her brown eyes, facing its achingly slow and painful end.

But he was naïve and foolish, wasn't he, and she was a goddamn pro who knew exactly what she was doing.

"Oh crap," she exclaimed, pulling a little adorable face. Right on cue, too. She stared at the floor and gave a sad sigh. "There goes my drink."

"I'm sorry. I didn't look where I was going," he replied at once, reaching behind him blindly to grab a napkin or two from the bar and then handing them to her. "God...let me buy you a new one, okay?"

"It's alright. I probably shouldn't be drinking, anyway. I've had, like, two and I still need to get home-"

"No. Please. It's my fault this happened. I should have been more careful. Let me buy you a new one."

Again, she shot him a smile, crooking her head a bit and taking in his features hungrily. She brushed some of her hair behind her ear, letting her fingers linger at her neck for a split second, and it was subtle. Subtle enough that he automatically, instinctively, did what she had expected, what she had wanted him to do; his eyes followed the path of her hand curiously, roaming over her soft skin and quickly returning to her face once they reached her neckline. He cleared his throat. It would take him four insanely long months to figure out who had most likely taught her _that_ oh-so-helpful move.

He ordered her a Margarita, smiling to himself when she touched his arm, a wordless thanks, and scanned the bar because surely she had to be here with someone. A group of her friends, snorting and giggling at his clumsiness over their fifth or sixth cocktail. Maybe a date who was impatiently wiggling his leg and checking his watch every other second, wondering when the hell she would finally return.

There was no one there, though. The brunette woman simply continued standing right before him after her drink arrived, holding his prying gaze just as determinedly in that sort of staring contest he would one day learn to withstand without blinking or looking away first. She held his blues intently, like she was searching for something, like she was trying to understand him, figure him out, and what she saw there, he didn't know and never found out either, but it seemed to satisfy her. Her browns dropped in the direction of her hands where she had started distractedly tugging at the hair ties around her left wrist, and then she said, "Well...thank you. But really, you didn't have to do that."

He liked her voice. It tasted like whiskey, somehow.

"Yeah, I did. Like I said, it's my fault," he answered and shrugged. "Again, I'm really sorry. I hope I didn't hurt you or anything."

"Oh no, it's fine. Don't worry about it. I got good reflexes." She shrugged as well and he thought that it looked much cuter on her. "Anyway, I don't wanna hold you up. You're probably here with someone..."

A few minutes ago, he had barely managed to stifle his laugh at the drunk man's embarrassing flirting attempts but now that he was in the same position, he actually felt a bit sorry for him. It was true, he did prefer living on the introvert side of life and he wasn't anything like his blonde slayer and her outgoing, bubbly personality that knocked everyone off their feet but up until then he would have never described himself as entirely inept at _talking_ with women. But there was something about her...

He caught her doe eyes flicker towards his left ring finger, again with the puppy-like head tilt, then back to his face only a second later. Kind of amused, he raised his eyebrow. She immediately mimicked his expression and added a smirk, silently provoking, challenging him. They were dancing, he mused, they were already dancing to a song only she could hear. Her rules, her game, her music, her lead; and he had no choice but to follow. Follow her down the rabbit hole.

"Uh, I'm not, actually. Just passing some time, I guess."

"Me neither," she responded, not missing a beat. "Maybe we could pass some time together then?"

_Present Time_

He was sitting in the apartment of a completely different person, his body numb, his fingers cold, his mind torturing him with images and smells and sounds, forcing him to relive every single conversation they had ever had, again and again and again. It was utterly ironic, a cosmic joke, how easy it was for him to distinguish lie from truth now. All those things she did with her hands, for example—playing with his fingers, fiddling with her bracelet nervously or the numerous hair ties around her wrist, smoothing down her skirt, combing through her dark locks, clenching her fists, nails leaving pretty crescents in her palm, as if she were desperately trying to keep them occupied, to keep them from covering her ears and mouth, _hear no evil, speak no evil_.

Sighing, he risked a glimpse at her. Spencer was on the opposite end of the couch, putting as much space between them as she could, legs pulled up, arms hugging them to her torso, white limbs tightly knotted together in a futile attempt to make herself smaller and disappear. He knew that child-like position too well, knew that she did that when she was afraid. But she had no right to be. She had no right to look like that either, fuming with rage and moments away from cutting through him with carefully chosen words, eyes dark and unfocused, staring at something he couldn't make out, filled with ice cold betrayal, like he was the one who had wronged her. Something inside him wanted to laugh.

"I think we need to talk," she finally broke the silence, speaking to no one in particular, refusing to meet his gaze, tone business-like and all matter-of-fact. She said it just like that, like she was suggesting they could order in from that sushi place she loved, or watch a Tarantino movie later that night. Just like that. Just..._I think we need to talk_, and that's it.

"Really? What makes you think so?"

The sarcasm in his voice, in turn, only made her glare at him. No, no, not at him, he thought. At the empty spot _next_ to him. For a beat or two, she looked as though she was about to cry, break down in salty tears, tiny frame shivering, Atlas carrying the world on her thin shoulders, and he sincerely hoped that she wouldn't because the mere thought made him feel uneasy and other things he didn't want to feel. Crushing guilt, mostly. Which was really funny. The best joke he'd ever heard, basically. He wasn't supposed to feel guilty. He wasn't supposed to keep doing this, dance along to her offbeat songs and play whatever messed up game she wanted them to play now. He was supposed to be mad at her; he was supposed to stand up and walk away. He was supposed to be a goddamn watcher for once, demand answers and the truth, digging and digging until his knuckles started to bleed.

The brunette didn't start talking, though, head turned away from him, fingers rubbing at her neck absentmindedly, frantically searching around for the necklace she wasn't wearing. "She's protecting you," he stated, then, resisting the sudden urge to reach for her hand and make her stop clawing at her already pinkish red skin. Resisting the urge to tell her that she didn't have to talk about it if she didn't want to. Because she _had_ to talk about it. Because he had to know. "Jenna is protecting you. From the Council. From the people at school. Why?"

Spencer snorted. "Oh please. She isn't protecting me. She is protecting her own ass," she shot back coolly. "Jenna has a lot of demons in her closet and lucky for me, I've met every one of them. But she also has a reputation to uphold, doesn't she? She can't risk anyone knowing about it. Your sister is a parasite, using people's vulnerability against them like she was born for it. And I had _no one_. No friends, no family, no place to stay, and I was young and afraid and confused and I made a deal with the devil. She said if I took care of her...of _our_ problem...she said she would give me a home. So she left me with the Hellmouth squad and I was supposed to stay there, that was our deal...but I didn't. I came here. And now she's, I don't know, I guess she's scared that I changed my mind."

The seemingly lighthearted casualness with which she had answered his inquiry, complete with a nonchalant shrug, didn't fool him at all. It hadn't fooled him when they were lying in his bed, back to chest, hadn't fooled him a mere three hours ago in his car, and it certainly didn't fool him now. They had officially entered a minefield and she knew she couldn't run away from it this time. And it made her terribly tense. And _vulnerable_. One of the very things she hated most. Good, he thought grimly.

"No friends, no family, no place to stay," he repeated thoughtfully. "So you and your brother already stopped talking to each other way before Melissa died. What happened? Did you have something to do with Aria's disappearance? Is that one of Jenna's demons?"

Alright, he wasn't really _that_ mad but he _was_ bitter. Still, with that question, he had crossed some invisible line, and knew it, too, and thus regretted it the second the words left his mouth. Cringing, he glanced at her but her unusually hard eyes found his in an instant, effectively silencing any apology before he could voice it.

"I never hurt her." _Truth._

"But you know who did."

Instead of responding, she exhaled deeply and wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her forehead against her knees, further hiding her face from his view. "Jenna and I fucked up. We hurt someone and now she's...hurting us back. And we deserve it. All of it. But god, she's smart. She's as sick and twisted as they come. She _knows_ us. She knows I'm nothing like Jenna. I don't care about me or stupid scars on my face or losing my job. So she...Aria and Melissa, they were...they are _collateral damage_. Casualties. Everything that happened to them, to Aria and her baby, Melissa getting turned into a vampire so that _I_ would be the one who has to stake her, it happened because they're close to me. I didn't hurt them. But in a way...yeah, you're right, I guess I _am_ responsible for it."

Toby had never heard her curse before, not even once, and in any other situation, he might have teased her about it but his head felt heavy all of the sudden, simultaneously swimming and drowning in her words. In her eyes. In the truth. "Who is _she_?"

"I don't know." _Lie_. "And it doesn't matter, anyway. You're going back to Seattle. I don't have to tell you anything. It's my fight. Not yours. Stay out of this."

"It's not only _your_ fight anymore," he interjected wearily. "A girl's dead. A slayer. Her name was Madeline. She was barely fourteen. A kid. Katrina Wallace. And...and _Hanna_. Hanna is right in the middle of it, too. She's been getting all this weird stuff for weeks and you're telling me that-"

Spencer threw up her hands, annoyed, and made a sound of exasperation. "None of these stupid things she got were even meant for her. They were meant for _me_. The pictures, the messages, the threats, the body parts, they were for _me_. Her way of showing that she knows I'm here. She must have told one of her idiotic, brainless minions to follow the slayer who is new in town but Hanna and I arrived in Columbus around the same time. He obviously mixed us up," she cut in. "I had no idea they were sending her that crap until Em was so kind to finally let me know. So you and Hanna can go back to Washington, hold hands, smell some flowers and sing _Kumbayah_ because _you_ were lucky enough to escape this hell. Hanna was never a real target and neither were you. Or Katrina. Or Madeline."

"Fine," he spat through gritted teeth, purposely avoiding giving even the slightest reaction to _her_ total overreaction to him and Hanna leaving soon. Knitting his brows together, he simply watched her as she stood up from the couch with a tiny scoff he didn't think was appropriate for someone in her position and then move to the window swiftly, giving him the cold shoulder. As usual. "_Fine_. Melissa's sire is your _arch-nemesis _or whatever. Something happened between you and your family you refuse to tell me. Jenna left you in Cleveland because of an ugly secret you two share. You came here shortly after your sister died. _Great_. Let's talk about something else then. Did you know who I was when we met?"

"No." _Lie_.

"Why do I find that so hard to believe?"

She didn't turn around, still glancing out of the window and into the comforting darkness of the night but he heard her sigh in defeat. "They had chained her up in the basement when I came here. Like an animal. And Em and I managed to talk Jason out of staking her and it worked until...well, it's obviously not her fault. They weren't feeding her and she was close to starving. I was cooking dinner and I must have cut myself or something. I think she smelled the blood and like I said, she was _really_ hungry but I was...fine. I was fine. Nothing happened. Just a couple of bruises. I've had much worse. Still, Emily started siding with Jason and demanded we get rid of her. They kept saying she was dangerous. I couldn't let them do it. So I took her away and, um, there was a huge fight and we all kind of stopped talking..._again_. But I had to know."

"Know what?"

She shrugged casually. "Once you get dropped off in Cleveland, _they_ can't harm you any longer because the Hellmouth is basically no-Council zone. It belongs to _us. _I never had to worry about having someone on the inside before. But after everything with Emily, I knew that I now had no choice but to keep tabs on the school and the Council. I needed to find out if Em had told them. So I went out every other night, found a watcher, got him drunk. You would be amazed at how much men are willing to spill when they think you wanna have sex with them. Then I learned that the replacement was arriving soon and I guess I wanted to know what Hanna was like. What _you_ were like. I figured you would be more important than the rest, would know more stuff, be more..." She inhaled loudly. "_Helpful_. I knew that you were a watcher, yes, but I swear I had no clue that you were related to Jenna. If I had I would have never approached you. Trust me."

With a tiny sigh, he buried his face in his hands tiredly, half-expecting it to hurt, to slice through him like knives and leave marks all over but the pain never came. Nothing she said could faze him because he had already known, hadn't he? He had known all along and simply refused to accept it. He leaned back against the couch, then, and said, "I think there's a word in the English language for that."

Slowly, she spun back around to face him. Their stares locked, blues and browns, and a million things neither dared to say out loud, and there was genuine regret in her eyes now, regret and something that looked like sadness, and blazing anger, too, and only then did he notice that she wasn't mad at him, she was mat at herself. She raised her eyebrows, a bit smugly. "Yeah. Surviving."

Raising his eyebrows as well, he held her gaze and gave a low humorless chuckle. "No. Using people."

The brunette didn't say anything at first, merely looking at the floor and pushing her tongue into her cheek, and then her eyes came up to meet his again, silently congratulating him for winning this round of war. "You're a watcher. You're privileged. You have no idea what it feels like to be completely powerless and helpless. And, you know what, I'm glad that you don't. I'm glad that you never had to do anything you weren't comfortable with. But things are different for _us_ and you don't get to judge me for trying to survive in this world you and your kind forced me into."

Furious tears that had literally appeared out of nowhere spilled over suddenly, running down her cheeks when she took in a sharp, quivering breath. She wiped them away hastily and snorted, clearly frustrated with herself, then marched over to the kitchen and started rummaging through the drawers.

"I'm just...if you had told me the truth, none of this would have happened."

"Oh, right. Right. Because _you_ were so honest with me, you mean?" she snapped with an incredibly cold laugh. "How's your class, Mr. Private School Teacher? What's your sister Hanna up to these days?"

His fingers were once again toying with the corners of the photograph of the three siblings. This was insane. "Are you even listening to yourself?" he asked her and furrowed his brows. "You're being ridiculous. Not to mention hypocritical. What was I supposed to say, Spencer? I had no idea who you were but you did. You knew who I was, you knew who Hanna was, you knew _everything_."

Another shrug. Another scoff. "Well, it's not like I didn't warn you, is it? I told you I'm a horrible person. The _crazy_ sister. That's what you and your watcher _pals_ call me, right? The mean sister. The cruel sister. Here I am. This is the real me. This is what I do. Don't act so surprised."

One part of him wanted to disagree because no matter what she had done, what she had put him and others through, he was still convinced, for some pathetic reason, that she wasn't the terrible person she claimed to be. Another part of him begged him to just go home, sleep it out and wake up with a hangover-like headache he would tend to for days. A different and much, much more quiet part of him, however, wanted to walk over to her and comfort her. Maybe. Kind of. But this wasn't the time for emotional talks, for mending trust and gluing back something that had never been. She was a slayer now, chin high, arms crossed, walls up, hiding in that little castle she'd most likely built years or even decades ago. So he decided to be a watcher.

"Where are you hiding Melissa?"

"Somewhere safe."

"Are you sure about that?"

A nasty glare followed. "Yes. Yes, I am sure about that, _Mr. Cavanaugh_. And you need to stop telling Jason that Melissa's killing people. She is innocent and not nearly as dangerous as you think she is."

"She's a vampire."

"She's my sister."

"She is not your sister," Toby began patiently. "She may look like your sister, she may talk like your sister, she may even have your sister's memories but she is _not_ your sister. That thing is a soulless demon, a ticking time bomb, and Emily and your brother are right, she has to-"

"Oh for god's sake, please spare me that boring watcher speech. I've heard it all before," she interrupted him. "I get it, okay? Vampires are _so_ evil and I have to be rational about this. My emotions are clouding my judgment and I need to kill her as soon as possible. Because the mission is what matters. _Always gotta work the mission._ Did I forget something?" He rolled his eyes and she added, "I also understand that I can't force you to keep this secret between us. You have a job to do after all. Go ahead, make your phone call to England, talk to them. And while you're at it, tell them that I will not stand idly by and watch. If they touch a single hair on her body, I won't hesitate to gut them like the pigs they are."

"Nice imagery," he replied, amused against his will. "They already know, though. I mean the school does. Mrs. Stevenson and her husband, too, I think. And Jenna."

"I'll handle it," Spencer said promptly. Then she frowned at him. "Why are you helping me?"

"I'm not." _Lie_, something inside him hissed. He ignored it. "I'm a watcher. You're a slayer. I'm just, what did you call it? _Doing my job_ and making sure you're alright. And what about that problem of yours? This female person who is hurting you and Jenna? The one who killed Melissa and Aria? And Madeline as well, I take?"

"Yeah, well, let _me_ worry about that. Like I said, it's my fight. Not yours. Stay out of it."

He raised from the couch when she inched closer so that they were before each other once more. Tilting her head slightly in that all too familiar way of hers, she smirked a little bit, letting her gaze wander across his features, briefly lingering on his mouth, and for one very bizarre moment, he thought that she was going to kiss him. Almost immediately, he took an instinctive step backwards but, of course, his body betrayed him by leaning in more. They were dancing again or maybe they had never really stopped and his stomach churned with motion sickness of the worst kind, tired of constantly twirling round and round.

Until that very moment when she decided to stop the music, stop the spinning, and take the center stage one last time. For the final act. The beheading. The kill. "I guess this is it then," she said, dropping her voice, hot breath grazing his jaw. "Is there anything else you would like to know?"

"Not really. I just want you to know that you're an awfully dedicated person." He gave a shrug like it didn't matter at all and then realized that it didn't. Not anymore. "I understand getting information out of people but wow...I have the greatest respect for that level of commitment. I mean, sleeping on my sofa and talking on the phone for hours? All those texts and that mixtape and the really sad story that came with it? Was it worth it? Did you find out anything useful?"

She broke off their eye contact and looked down at her feet. He had won; stolen her show. "What? Don't tell me you're bitter or anything. Did you really think _that_ was the only thing I didn't lie about? That I had feelings for you? That this meant something? That I'm some sad broken girl you could patch back together? I'm sorry to disappoint, Toby. I'm just a really good actress."

Gazing down at her hands, he knew everything he needed to know, and then there was nothing left to say. The play was over. He snorted, grabbed his cell phone from the coffee table and walked out.

* * *

><p>It was late and god, she was exhausted. The kind of terrible exhaustion she normally only felt after a long night of patrolling several poorly-lit back alleys and huge cemeteries. Her bones ached, urging her to take a well-earned rest and there was pain in muscles she had never previously noticed. Plus, the period cramps had started about half an hour ago. Talk about good timing. And yet, she was still on her feet, not lying under her thick comforter, snuggling into Caleb while he did whatever he did on his laptop and she pressed a heating pad against her abdomen. Life was unfair. She had already figured out as much earlier that day, what with <em>Ashley Marin<em> and her immensely stupid phone call, but this, this was the freaking sugar-sprinkled icing-on-the-cake moment of the year.

With a huff, Hanna closed the bedroom door behind her, walking back into the living area. Her boyfriend was half-asleep in one of the armchairs, arms and legs crossed, eyelids closed and neck craned in a way that looked really, _really_ uncomfortable, and Hanna noted that the brunette slayer hadn't even touched her food yet. Which was kind of mean. Okay, she knew that she wasn't exactly a good cook, that was Toby's job after all, but seriously, the woman could have at least pretended that the effort was appreciated. But obviously, crazy people didn't know when they were being impolite.

Or snobbish.

Or downright rude.

Honestly, she didn't actually mind her silent smug smile all that much. The _Anything-You-Can-Do-I-Can-Do-Better_ smirk. They were slayers. Some of them were bound to develop a god complex. And who was she to judge a girl's self-confidence, anyway? The world needed a lot more of those.

But precious Cleveland Slayer had taken a shower about twenty minutes ago, using _their _hot water and _their_ fluffy towels and _her _shampoos and _her_ conditioner, and then she had simply refused to wear any of Hanna's clothes. The girl snorted. That was one of the most offensive things anyone had _ever_ said to her. Now, watching the other woman gloomily, she briefly contemplated dragging her out by the hair and delivering her right to Jenna, then quickly shook that ugly thought out of her head again. Just because _some_ people were raised in the jungle didn't mean that she had to follow suit. She was here to help someone. That's what she did. She helped the helpless.

Even if that certain helpless person was getting on her last nerve.

She hadn't liked the beautiful and way expensive red nightdress Hanna brought over to her earlier...which, again, absolutely ridiculous; Hanna _knew_ fashion, definitely better than the other woman, anyway, who looked like she was dead. Literally. All flesh and bones and pale skin and wet hair like Medusa. So she hadn't liked the dress and demanded something different. Because they were a hotel, apparently. The blonde slayer threw the shirt she'd gotten from Toby's drawer on the sofa.

"There," she said coolly. Then she cleared her throat and added, in what she hoped to be a much friendlier and nicer voice, "You can wear this."

"Thank you," the woman responded slowly, hugging the red towel closer around her and eying the material of the shirt warily. Hanna suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and sat down. Her name was Melissa and that was even more confusing; the blonde had never felt like a Melissa in her dreams. She had felt like a...like a different person altogether. This encounter was a _big_ let-down. What use was there for terrifying slayer dreams and cat-like instincts, really, if it all was a bunch of crap, anyway?

Drumming her fingers on her thighs impatiently and smiling at Caleb's light snores, she glanced back at Melissa just as she put the shirt back down after inhaling at it deeply. Okay, Hanna thought and gave her another weird look. That bitch was _crazy_. Batshit insane, just like she had predicted.

"Why do you have that?" she asked in a light tone as if she hadn't just smelled Toby's shirt. She gestured towards the coffee table lazily where the dagger from yesterday's disaster was lying. Or knife. Or dagger. Whatever the difference was. She needed to ask Caleb about it when he woke up.

Hanna furrowed her eyebrows, picked up the weapon from the table and handed it to the other slayer who immediately started inspecting it interestedly. "You recognize it? Is it yours? Is it your sister's?"

"No, it's not mine," came the super informative answer as she stared at the silver objects for a couple of beats and placed it back. "It's not my sister's either. Jenna used to have a set of daggers like this in her office. Then they were stolen from her. This one is fake. It's a good imitation, though."

The blonde hummed thoughtfully and merely shrugged it off, deciding that it wasn't really _her_ problem anymore. Let Mrs. S and the Council solve this riddle. Her and her boys were officially out. Closed for renovation. Holiday season. "Soooo..." Hanna began instead. "Why aren't you eating anything? I thought you were hungry. You said you were starving earlier."

"I am."

She glanced at the untouched food, then back into Melissa's browns. "Well, I don't wanna brag but my scrambled eggs are _amazing, _and Caleb made you spaghetti."

Arching one dark eyebrow, kind of amusedly, too, the older slayer gave a half-smile, not saying a single word, reached for her fork, holding it up for the blonde to see, as if she wanted to make her finally shut up, and then she, unceremoniously, shoved some of the eggs into her mouth. She took her time chewing and made one disgusted expression after the other, scrunching up her nose and the corners of her lips twitching like she was trying hard not to gag.

This had to be the overreaction of the goddamn century. Everyone _loved_ her eggs. Because her eggs were _perfect_. And so was her sense of style. If she kept doing this, she so was going to kick that lady out of her apartment. So much for being nice. They should have never taken her back home with them.

Melissa lowered the fork again. "Are you happy now? Or do I have to eat the spaghetti as well?"

Sighing, annoyed, Hanna raised from the sofa, taking her cell phone with her and mumbling something about having to make a phone call. A short look in her boyfriend's direction confirmed that he had fallen asleep. Good for him, she thought with a pout. At least he didn't have to deal with the crazy sister any longer. She vanished in the nearest bedroom, closed the door and plopped down on Toby's bed.

She had tried calling him all night—eight times, to be exact, but who was counting?—and thus far, her watcher hadn't picked up any of her calls. Or responded to _any_ of the two or thirty-one texts she had sent him. This was beyond stupid. And unfair. Caleb was asleep, _Ashley Marin_ was in Pennsylvania and knew where _she_ lived, Melissa was being a huge brat and Toby was most likely having sex with a serial killer who was certainly going to be the end of _both_ of them since she just knew that that embarrassing school girl crush of his was going to develop into something more. And then, she thought, horrified, and then he was going to talk about love and staying in Ohio and what was she going to do if that ever happened?

Hanna frowned suddenly. And why the hell was she so freakishly obsessed with that woman? She wasn't any more of a threat to the happy Marin-Cavanaugh family than any of Toby's previous girlfriends had been. She really needed to get over it.

"What is it, Hanna?"

The blonde felt her lips break into a tiny smile. "Finally," she huffed into her phone. "I've been trying to reach you for _hours_. Where are you?"

"Um, I'm coming home soon." He sounded...different. Bad different. She squinted slightly and perked up her ears. "Why? What's wrong? Did something happen?"

No. A lot different. And that's when she figured out what was going on. "You are a jerk. You are _smoking_. You promised me that you would quit!" she whined "Do you remember how long it took me to get that awful smell out of our apartment? Do you remember how disgusting _you_ smelled? I am not doing this again, C. Your girlfriend is a bad influence."

His chuckle vibrated against her ear gently. That sounded a bit different, too. Cold, somehow, and kind of dark. "Yeah...you don't have to worry about that anymore. Promise."

"Why? Did you break up?" Truth be told, she did feel a little mean for the very obvious grin in her voice but it had been a really long and really crappy day. Not her fault.

"Well, we were never together so there was no break-up..." She heard him light another cigarette and pursed her lips tightly. "Let's talk about it when I get home, okay? I guess it concerns you as well."

"Concerns _me_?" Hanna repeated, baffled. "What the hell, boss? Did you knock her up? I'm not doing this. I don't want any siblings. Nuh-uh. We're not paying child support. What were you thin-"

"What? No. Calm down," Toby cut her off firmly. It made her relax. Somewhat. "It's...um...it's slayer stuff. Like I said, let's talk about it when I get home."

"_Oooh_, slayer stuff, how exciting," she echoed and snickered. "I got slayer stuff, too. But I think we should talk about it _before_ you get here because I feel like you're gonna be mad at me."

"Why would I be mad at you?"

"Uh, okay, but don't interrupt. So, Caleb and I are driving home from the movies, right, and then we pass this building thingy and I'm like, _oh, cool, I've been here before_, like, on the inside? And then I make him stop and we get out of the car and I wait for something to happen...but as per usual, nothing interesting happens. And we just have a little talk about, um, stuff and then this girl, like, totally runs into Caleb and almost knocks him out," she said, shrugging, even though he couldn't see it. "And I think she's just a poor girl who's running away from a demon, and I get into action, right, like, full slayer mode. But turns out it's not some innocent girl. I mean, she _is_, but we actually ran into a slayer."

For a few moments, she didn't say anything, hoping that he would understand it himself but her watcher was seemingly lost in thought over what had happened with his date. "And?" he eventually asked.

She rolled her eyes, blowing a raspberry. "Pay attention. I just told you that Caleb and I ran into a slayer and I told you I felt like I had seen that building before. Well..? Who do you think we ran into?"

Finally, he caught on and just as anticipated, he wasn't very happy about it. "What happened then?"

"Um, I took her home with us? _Duh_. What was I supposed to do? She looked like hell and she said that Jenna and Shana were trying to kill her. I couldn't leave her there. Although, honestly, now I kinda wish I had...Tobes, I swear, she really is as crazy as we thought and-"

"_Get out of there._"

The abrupt change of tone startled her. "What? Why would I do that? She's nice...okay, she is not but-"

"This is serious. Take Caleb and get out of there, now," he continued; he had sounded different, sad and disappointed almost, a couple of minutes ago but now he sounded like an _actual_ adult. It scared her. She didn't like that voice. "That's not the Cleveland Slayer, okay? Spencer is. You have the wrong sister. You invited a _vampire_ into our apartment. Take Caleb and get out of there."

"No, uh-uh, _you_ have the wrong sister. _Your_ Spencer or whatever is the vampire. Melissa's alive. I'm the slayer, okay, I can tell when there's a vamp somewhere. I can sense them-"

"No, you can't. You have no idea how to sense a vampire because you never managed to learn it," he interrupted her furiously and she felt her jaw drop. What an asshole. "_Get out of there_."

He was talking still, babbling and ranting and nearly _screaming_, unusually loud and panicky; the slayer, however, had already stopped listening. This was the worst night of her life. Everything else she could take but her watcher basically implying that she was _bad_ at her job? No siree, Hanna thought and glared at the wall angrily. "Ugh, you know what—you know what, Tobes? You clearly have some anger management issues and that's okay, I would feel the same way if I had just found out that I had sex with a vampire so I'm gonna pretend this conversation never happened," she said over his ramblings, "and I'm gonna hang up now because, seriously, I don't feel like dealing with you calling me incompetent any longer."

She threw the phone behind her with a scoff and ignored the annoying jingle, signaling another phone call from her watcher who probably wanted to apologize. But she wasn't in the mood for lame-ass apologies. How dare he insult her like _that_? He was a boring watcher. He had no freaking idea how a slayer's mind worked. Melissa was perfectly okay. A bit on the crazy side, yeah, but it's not like they hadn't known that before. She sniffed at clothes. So what? A lot of people did that. Hanna, for example, liked to bury her face in Caleb's neck when they were cuddling and honestly, she never felt as attracted to him as she did when he was slightly sweaty. Smells were an important thing in human interaction.

And she didn't like scrambled eggs. That wasn't a crime and not that weird. Maybe she was a heavy smoker. When Toby had been smoking still, he always used to put way too much spices in his food because to his cancer-infected, Marlboro-red tongue, basically everything tasted the same.

Case closed, Hanna nodded, standing up from the bed. His girlfriend was the vampire. She had been right about this all along. Just like she always was. He was wrong. She was right. End of story.

Everything seemed to be completely normal when she returned to the living room. She couldn't find Caleb but figured that he was most likely in the bathroom. A commercial for some carpet cleaning company was playing on the TV; the best kind of commercial, too. One of her favorites where none of the actors could act. The dagger just sat there, on the coffee table, exactly where she had left it.

Everything was _normal_.

Except for Melissa who was slipping back into Shana's black heels. She had also changed into her clothes from before, put on a face, made her hair a bit, although it was still slightly wet, and shot Hanna a warm smile when she spotted the younger girl.

"Where are you going?" Hanna asked her, raising her eyebrow. "What about sleep? You know, it's this thing you do where you lie down and close your eyes...?"

"I need to take care of some things."

"And what about Jenna?"

The brunette shook her head, took the dagger from the table and looked at it. "Can I have this? I really don't know where _my_ weapons are and I can't go out there without protection."

Hanna shrugged. She didn't care much about that knife, anyway. "Yeah. Go ahead."

"Thank you," Melissa said and smiled again. "Thank you for having me...and thanks for the food."

Stepping closer, the other girl frowned at the table and then at her sister slayer because she hadn't even touched the food. Any of it. The eggs were cold and so were the spaghetti. The fork resting on the left side of the plate. She hadn't eaten anything. She hadn't touched it.

But there was Caleb and he was on the floor, face peaceful, eyes closed, like he was sleeping, only he wasn't. He had fallen asleep in the armchair, hadn't he, and now he was on the floor.

On the floor.

He lay there and he wasn't moving.

He wasn't moving.

_Thanks for the food_.

He wasn't moving.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Hey, do you smell that? Smells like a...a...a toxic sibling relationship to me. I _love_ that smell. It also kind of smells like serious cliffhanger. I really love that smell, too.

Also, another thing, and this may be a little spoiler-ish so if you wanna avoid that, better stop reading now: Spencer's/Jenna's enemy is _exactly_ who you think she is. I mean, _duh_. And you've already met her, like, twice in this fic. Her identity isn't actually that much of a mystery and she will be addressed by her name in Spencer's part of the story (yay). It's her motives that are important, ja feel?

**Reviews!**

**Guest #1**: Thank you so much!

**Guest #2**: Wow, in one sitting?! I actually tried reading this mess a couple of weeks ago and I didn't make it past the second chapter. So someone reading it in _one_ sitting? That's amazing. You are awesome! Thank you!

**Guest #3**: Well, you would definitely make a better slayer than Hanna because she still has no clue what that tingly neck means. Haha. Thanks!

**Guest #4**: Argh, sorry, I thought I was being really obvious in the last one and I guess this chapter cleared it up but in case you're still confused...Spencer is Jenna's old slayer aka "Cleveland Girl" aka the main character in most of Hanna's slayer dreams. Melissa is Emily's old slayer aka "Dead Girl" aka the one who got turned into a vampire. Hanna and Caleb mixed them up.

**Woodstock99**: Yay! It's always so, so exciting to meet other Buffy fans in the PLL fandom! I don't know what chapter you're on and/or if you're still reading but if you are, you should now know what's up and who's who, haha, so...strangely, a vampire/slayer romance never crossed my mind. I mean, I did like Bangel and S2 basically makes me cry every single time and I _loved_ Spuffy (still do!) but the Buffyverse already explored those dynamics and the angst that comes with, right? So I kind of wanted to go in a different direction and make the vampire/slayer relationship a sibling one. Anyway, thanks a lot! You're a peach!

**Guest Number One**: Hi honey! I hope that everyone's going to feel less confused once we start the second part of the story because, dang, that's basically Spencer galore. Spencer Mania. And luckily, she knows what's going on and she's gonna tell. Well, at least she's gonna tell _us_. I mean, we're in her thoughts so she basically has no choice. Oh man, I cried actual _tears_ when Mona died. Like, right now, with the hiatus and stuff, I can pretend that it didn't happen but I feel like it's gonna get real bad when the show's back. From a writer's perspective (lmao) I get that they killed her off. I mean, with Jenna back and Ali back, they have a shitton of morally ambiguous characters running around Rosewood and let's be real, Mona has lost her Mona-ness. Go back and watch most of S4 or early 5A, you can literally tell that they had no idea what to do with her. So I get their decision from a Doylist perspective but I still liked her very much. Plus, Janel is just fucking great. She's basically one of the best actresses on that show. And thus far, they haven't really used Sasha that much, have they? Ali's nothing but a plot device right now, Tammin is barely on, Troian hasn't got much material to work with and now Janel's character is dead. I don't know, man. I hope for a Spencer-centric or Ali-centric second half of the season. Not saying that the other girls are bad actresses, they're not, but, you know. YOU KNOW. Ugh, I don't think that Ali's -A but I do understand where the liars are coming from. That's all I can say right now because Ali's making me mad (again) and I swear to god, in all my years in fandom, there's never been a single character that makes me feel so many different kind of emotions. So, thanks a lot, PLL. I missed talking to you, too! I'm pretty okay! My landlord's being an asshole, school's kicking my ass and I'm kind of thinking about changing my major (agaIN) and other than that, there's literally nothing interesting going on in my life. I'm glad you're doing so well, though. And I'm glad you and your guy (heee) are still talking. And, uh, no, B is for bAWESOME. Don't listen to Moneybag Hastings. Did you have nice Halloween? Much love!

Thank you all for reading! See you soon!


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